Kindred
by OrielleD
Summary: Fenris is hired to escort a chantry scribe to Val Royeaux and finds unexpected companionship along the way. AU. Rated M for eventual, occasional smut: Fenris/OC. Begins late Act II, contains spoilers for Dragon Age: Asunder. Complete.
1. The Proposal

**Author's note: Hello and welcome to - this is my first fan fiction effort, so please be gentle, though I do appreciate any constructive reviews you can provide.**

**Please keep in mind this is a WIP and I may wind up coming back to edit based on how the story evolves. I have a definite idea of where it's going, but we all know how sometimes our characters develop a life of their own, and I want to stay true to that.**

**Major props to my friend _GirlyGeek_ for spending many an hour hashing over content with me and helping me keep my story straight, as well as rapping me over the head when I take poor Fenris a little too out of character. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it!  
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**Story is set late Act II - post game, for reference.**

**Legal junk: the concept and character of Althaea Demitridis belong to me, but everything else belongs to BioWare. It's their sandbox - I just play in it.**

CHAPTER ONE - THE PROPOSAL

"I thought I might offer you a job," said Sebastian carefully as he sat with Fenris at Wicked Grace one night in early summer. "I know you've been looking for some extra work, and I think I've found something that might suit you well."

"What is it?" asked Fenris.

"The Chantry has need of an escort. One of our couriers needs passage to Val Royeaux, and as you know the way is...more dangerous than usual."

"Can this courier not take care of himself?"

"_She_ can, yes, but she is usually accompanied by a Templar and with the current tensions as they are, we cannot afford to lose any of them. I told the grand cleric I knew an especially capable sellsword and she was happy to secure a payment for you."

Fenris raised his hand to his chin in thought. His recent encounter with Hadriana made more waves than he thought might be prudent. "It might behoove me to disappear for a while, it's true. How long do you think this trip might take?"

"I would say three weeks on the outside."

Fenris regarded the idea. Three weeks wasn't terribly long, but it might take the majority of the heat off him, and Aveline would be grateful. "Tell the grand cleric I accept."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Sebastian. "The ship I've booked for you departs in two days. I would settle your affairs, then meet me here at high noon. I'll have your payment and any supplies you may need."

He departed the Hanged Man several sovereigns later and glad for the fresh influx of coin.

Fenris arrived at the vestibule of the Chantry in the late morning rather than high noon, but found that several crates were already piled neatly in a far corner. Sebastian, clad in chantry robes, greeted him warmly.

"Thank you again for your help on such short notice," Sebastian said. "I'm sure she'll be here shortly." He showed Fenris to an open pew, where he sat and waited.

The courier appeared at the stairs perhaps half an hour later. At first, she appeared small enough to be a child, but as she drew closer, he realized she was definitely an adult. She was boyish of build, and wearing a well-worn set of traveling leathers, as well as a shortbow and quiver. Her face, guileless and open, was sprinkled liberally with freckles, and she had pulled a mane of silky black hair into an elegant but serviceable braid. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she pulled Sebastian into an embrace and placed a peck on his cheek.

"Althaea," he said fondly as he grasped her hand.

"Is this the friend you told me about?" she asked Sebastian, reaching a hand out to shake Fenris's. She reconsidered at the sight of his spiked gauntlets, and instead settled for a pat on the shoulder, causing Fenris to flinch and clear his throat uncomfortably.

"Yes. Althaea, this is Fenris; Fenris, Althaea. She is a talented librarian and scribe for the chantry, and an occasional courier to boot."

"What are in the crates?" Fenris asked. Sebastian started to answer but Althaea, swelling with pride, interrupted him.

"Research," she said. "The crates are a compository of scrolls recently discovered nearby. I managed to translate parts of them from the ancient Tevene, but I couldn't get them all and what I've been able to understand is simply fascinating…"

As she chattered on, Fenris considered her accent. It seemed half-gone from living in Kirkwall for a long period of time, but what was left was definitely Tevinter and most decidedly highborn. He wondered what such a person would be doing living in the Free Marches, _especially_ working for the Chantry, but then thought how very odd his circumstance might seem to her if she knew _his_ origins.

"…So, since I've been working so hard on these texts, the grand cleric thought I might be rewarded by presenting them to the Divine herself, and requesting permission to hire a more capable translator. It's all very exciting, really, and I appreciate that you were able to help us, master elf."

He thought it a little ironic that she would use the word _master_ when referring to him - a former slave - but said nothing, choosing instead only to meet her eyes and incline his head respectfully.

And her eyes. They were a deep, clear violet and seemed to see straight through to his soul. It was a color he'd seen only once before, and on the cruel face of a magister, one of Danarius's collaborators. He wondered if they might be a family resemblance, but Sebastian broke his train of thought by speaking at that moment.

"The ship on which you'll be traveling is called the _Bonne Chance._ It's an Orlesian ship and you will find the captain is loyal to the Chantry. You will be quite safe with him, I'm sure." He handed Fenris and Althaea each a small bag of coin. "This is half of your payment, Fenris - should you need to tap into it as part of your duty, let me know and I will be happy to set it right for you." He drew Althaea into an affectionate embrace. "Travel carefully, and I'll see you soon."

"Thanks for everything, Seb," she gushed. "I'll see you in a few weeks." Then she turned to Fenris, her face radiant and excited. "Ser Fenris - we should probably leave before we miss our ride."

Inwardly, Fenris groaned at the excitable girl, but smiled slightly and followed her and the porters to the Kirkwall docks.


	2. Bonne Chance

**Author's note: After this chapter I'll be taking a short break to do some research on Val Royeaux - I really want to do the city justice when I write it. Thanks for your patience!**

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CHAPTER TWO: BONNE CHANCE

Althaea sensed that her companion might not want to engage in conversation, so she tried to maintain her silence as best she could, immersing herself in the everyday hubbub of the markets as they walked to the docks.

"How do you know Sebastian?" she asked, unable to hold it in any longer.

"We travel in the same…group," said Fenris. "I often work with a man by the name of Garrett Hawke."

"I know Hawke," she said. "Well, I know _of_ him. I've been far too busy to actually meet him, but Sebastian has regaled me with some fantastic tales of his exploits."

Fenris seemed to consider that a moment. "Sebastian never struck me as the type to tell tales."

"Well, maybe not _fantastic_ tales, but they're exciting enough. I lead a very quiet life in comparison to Sebastian." She had to hustle to keep up with his long stride, wool cloak billowing up behind her. "He's been…distracted of late with all the business in Starkhaven, so I'm glad that he's getting the help he needs from Hawke."

Fenris said nothing, but continued to walk.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did _you_ meet him? Hawke, I mean."

"He helped me out of a situation a few years back. I felt I owed him a debt, so I stayed with him rather than moving on."

"Moving on? You say it as if you're not from here."

Fenris sighed and looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Don't be daft." He hoped that might have cowed her for the moment, but it didn't. Instead, she drew herself up in indignation.

"Asking you seemed more polite than assuming anything regarding your origins."

"Just what would you assume, exactly?"

"Your accent and syntax suggest you're from the north of Tevinter, perhaps even Seheron." She wore a self-satisfied smile. "Maybe even recently arrived, based on some of your word choices. Don't worry, I understand - Common is a terribly cumbersome language to learn, even though it is useful."

Fenris grunted.

"Am I to take it that I'm right?" she asked, sidling up to him with a singsong lilt that grated his ears.

"I was told I'm from Seheron, but I lived in Minrathous for as long as I remember."

"I was close, then."

"And you?" he asked. "I hear Tevinter in your voice."

"I was born and raised in the Imperium, but I've lived in the Free Marches for almost five years now."

"You must have a talent for sounding like the locals." Fenris marveled at that. He had been away from Tevinter for longer and still carried most of his accent.

"Something like that," she said. "I was taught Nevarran and Antivan when I was young, and I think maybe I do a passable imitation of whatever I hear." She was blessedly silent after that, and they arrived at their ship in relative quiet. She then became busy greeting the captain and relaying instructions for the care and keeping of their precious cargo, while Fenris stood at attention. _Giving orders seems to come naturally to her, _Fenris thought with a smirk, but opted to observe rather than remark upon it.

The _Bonne Chance_, as it turned out, was a trade galleon of immense size and luxury well past that of even Orlesian custom. The prow was ornamented with a bronze siren and silk sails hung from the masts. The captain, a stout man by the name of Deveraux, had granted them use of the captain's suite for their journey, and cheerfully led them into it, showing them around. Althaea's mouth opened in a small _o_ as he pointed out the kingly four-poster bed, library, dining table and washroom in the suite.

"I was led to assume your manservant also functions as a body guard, serrah, so I have provided a cot for his use," said the captain. "If you prefer, he can stay below decks with the other crewmen."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Captain. I'm sure that won't be necessary, but I'll consult with him."

Deveraux looked offended at the thought of a human consulting with an elf on anything, but said nothing. "We do require that you spend your time with us in your suite, of course - we cannot abide civilians on deck without permission."

"I understand, Captain."

"_Magnifique_. I will send a servant with your meal for the evening when it is finished," he said, raising Althaea's hand and kissing it in a courtly manner. Althaea curtsied and allowed him to shut the door before relaxing a bit.

"I apologize for the captain's behavior," she said to Fenris.

"I saw nothing of offense in his manner." _That was a lie,_ Fenris thought, but didn't see a reason to tell truths. Even as little as he knew her, he suspected it would invite a line of well-intentioned questioning he wasn't comfortable with.

"He treated you like part of the furniture." He found her concern for his well-being odd, but somewhat comforting.

"It would be neither the first time nor the last." Fenris put his rucksack down on the cot, then tested it. _Serviceable enough_.

"If you like, we can share the bed," she said, then seemed to realize how that could be taken and turned beet red. "I mean, I can sleep on the cot some nights."

Fenris smirked and said, "That won't be necessary." He took the moment to remove his weapon and armor, revealing the wiry self underneath. Althaea was reminded of a puffer fish returning to his normal size, and giggled, but stopped at a warning glare. She looked away and began unpacking her rucksack, placing a comb, a box of hair pins, and a nightgown in their proper places. Then she pulled a book out and headed to the table, pulling it open and reading it contentedly, taking notes on a piece of parchment that seemed to appear out of nowhere. The ship began to move, and Fenris stood by the window, watching the port of Kirkwall grow smaller behind them.

There was little to do on the ship for Fenris, though there were plenty of books on the shelves and fine things dangled from every corner available. Althaea had changed positions, instead curling up on the captain's plush chair with a blanket and the massive tome she had opened what seemed hours ago. Eventually he found a whetstone and oil in one of the many drawers in the room, and set about sharpening his broadsword and buffing his armor to a dull gleam. Occasionally, he would catch Althaea staring at him in the corner of his eye, but she was quiet and Fenris was definitely glad for it.

He wasn't sure what bothered him about the girl - she was polite enough, and courtly in the presence of those who might be offended if she wasn't - but she struck him as oblivious and possibly even a bit immature, though he couldn't guess her age; her young face made that impossible. Then his thoughts turned toward Sebastian and the warm way in which he had greeted Althaea. It was the kind of greeting Fenris associated with an acquaintance of long years, and it left him wondering - again - just how the highborn Tevinter girl had landed in the Free Marches.

He glanced up at her as she curled up in the luxurious chair, reading with a serene look on her face. She had removed her gloves, boots, and leather bracers, revealing hands with long, graceful fingers. Those fingers lightly turned the pages of the book as she read, a small smile on her face. Fenris would not have considered her one of the great beauties of the world, but the grace he had seen thus far might well make up for it, so long as she kept her mouth shut.

She must have felt his eyes upon her at that moment, for she looked up at him and smiled wide for a fraction of a second. Fenris renewed his interest in his breastplate and looked back down to continue buffing it.

Not long after that, an elven servant knocked on the door and entered the room, carrying a tray laden with a hot meal for the two. She placed the plates deferentially on the table, poured each a measure of wine, and departed in silence, but not before doing a double-take at the strange looking elf in front of her. Clearly, she wasn't used to seeing her kind as an honored guest in the captain's quarters.

Althaea sat at the table across from Fenris, who had laid his armor aside to make room on the table for dinner. "I bet you get that a lot."

"What?"

"That girl did a take, didn't you see it? It was as if she were surprised you were a guest and not a servant."

"She was looking at my markings."

"Oh," said Althaea, cutting a slice of the meat and chewing thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right. They are quite distinctive."

"Frankly, I'm surprised you haven't asked about them yet, despite your talent for talking."

"It didn't seem polite to ask about them, any more so than it would have been for you to ask me why my hair is black or why I have so many freckles."

The rest of their meal was eaten in silence. Fenris thought she might have finally figured out that he didn't really feel up to chatting and stewed a while until she finished her meal, curling back up in her chair. Then, unbidden, his thoughts rose up to rebel against him: _She's been nothing but polite to you and you've been a complete arse. _He sighed inwardly and challenged himself to actually have a conversation with her.

He started, then, with the question that had bothered him since the moment she had started talking at length after pouring himself another generous glass of wine: "How does a highborn Imperialite wind up in a place like Kirkwall?"

Fenris could tell the question had startled her, but she simply shut her book and gave him a small, sad smile.

"That's a long story, and solidly in the past." He wondered what kind of circumstance could have caused her to abandon her homeland, and cursed the small inner voice that made him speak again.

"If you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

"Fair enough," she said. That smile was beginning to grow on him. "I grew up in Solas -"

Fenris interrupted. "A country bumpkin, then -"

"Only by Minrathous standards," she laughed.

"Well, I _am_ from Minrathous."

"Then yes, by your standards I _am _a country bumpkin! Can I please continue?" She burst into laughter, and took a drink from the glass of wine on the table next to her. Fenris nodded.

"I was the sixth child in a minor house and for a very long time we had no chance of ascending the social ladder. Things were okay until I was sixteen, and the house rules were very lax. My best friend Marius was the son of my father's bodyguard."

"Your family kept slaves." It wasn't a question.

"Fenris, please - I didn't know any better." He frowned, but gestured with the bottle, poured another glass, and allowed her to continue.

"Suddenly there was a chance to aspire to something more," she said. "My father finally had a chance to become a member of the Senate, and at a dinner party he bled Marius to fuel a magnificent illusion...to impress his guests. When he died, I went into a rage and attempted to kill my father. Then I ran, and I ran for months, with nothing but the clothes on my back and my bow."

"How did you become aligned with the Chantry, then?"

"I landed in Kirkwall some time later…it was winter, and I was starving. Sebastian found me at the city gates, in rags and begging; I don't know what he saw or heard that made him do it, but he took me in and nursed me back to health. I've been working for them ever since. I owe him my life." She took another swig of the wine, wishing for another bottle. "Your turn."

Fenris spoke briefly about his time in slavery, his old master, the recent end of Hadriana and the news of his sister. She frowned as he talked, but didn't interrupt.

"Hadriana sounds like such a pleasant woman. I'm not sorry she's dead."

"This, coming from a magister's daughter?" Fenris asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Trust me, Fenris. There is only one person in my family I can trust, and the only reason he retained any semblance of humanity is because Father shipped him to the University as soon as he was of age, calling him an embarrassment. Not even my mother intervened in either of our fates."

"Have you reached out to him?"

"_Maker_, no!" she breathed. "I'm sure my father is quite content to assume I'm dead, and I'd hate for that illusion to slip. I don't think he'd like it much if he found out I were still alive."

"I'm assuming he'd like to correct that if he ever found out."

"Oh, I'm sure he would."

"Why would you leap to the defense of a slave like Marius?" Fenris blurted out, uncharacteristically. "Had he anything to offer you?"

"I loved him well, is that not enough?"

"He was a slave. To the likes of your family, he was livestock to be bought and sold."

"He was my friend."

"Why not try and free him?"

"I did solicit for his freedom, actually, when I was eight. It earned me the soundest beating I've ever had in my life. You'll understand if I never did it again, I'm sure." She rearranged her limbs so she sat cross-legged on the plush chair. Fenris regarded her, feeling his negative opinions being stripped away and replaced by a sort of curious respect. This girl had taken a beating for an elven slave…when she was eight. The only other person he knew would commit such a mad act was Hawke, an idealist through and through.

"What do you do, now that you're free?" asked Althaea, jolting him out of his reverie.

"I am not free, not yet. I must either kill Danarius or buy my freedom from him, though I doubt the second will ever happen."

"Well, what do you do in the meantime?"

"I take jobs as I find them, and I travel with Hawke from time to time. I escort lovely, mysterious women to far off places."

The flirtatious line wasn't lost on her, but she didn't acknowledge it. "Sebastian would say 'you are living as you see fit'." She said it in a fair approximation of the prince's brogue.

"Sebastian is as apt as he is pious." He opened the second bottle of wine and drank directly from it this time, moving to an ottoman nearer Althaea and handing it to her. To his surprise, she took it from him and took a small pull from the bottle, then handed it back.

"But you, you seem neither as pious nor as proper as the chantry might require of someone in their employ. Do you ever think of leaving?"

She giggled, bell-like, in the growing darkness of the cabin. Like clockwork, the servant who had brought them dinner came through the cabin, lighting the sconces on the wooden walls. "Everyone serves the Maker in their own way, Fenris. I just happen to do it with a little less mention of His name. Besides, my talents are few and wouldn't be of much use outside the Chantry or perhaps the Viscount's office."

"That bow can't just be for aesthetics." Even from his distance, he could see definition in her arms and chest that drawing the string taut on a regular basis would have created.

"It's been a while since I've needed one outside of practice, but when I was…twelve? I was voted the best young archer in the Imperium."

"You might still be too delicate for mercenary life, though," he said gently.

"Oh, there's no might involved. It's a definite yes. But, if we ever have to hunt squirrels for food, you'll be thanking me."

"Let's hope that never happens." Fenris raised his bottle.

"I'll drink to that." She brought her glass up to the bottle with a delicate _clink._

After that exchange, Althaea found that sharing conversation with Fenris was far easier, even downright pleasant. He taught her how to play Diamondback and Wicked Grace using a set of cards he had found in the captain's desk, games which she took to quickly and with enthusiasm. On three of the calmer days, they were permitted up onto the deck, where Althaea would take great breaths of the salt air, smiling and simply enjoying the sun. Fenris couldn't help but smile a little, as well; once he had let go of his first impression, he found her good humor tolerable and even a little infectious. He spent nights on his cot, often falling asleep while she read her massive tome by candlelight, and found that the rocking of the ship provided him with better sleep than he could find on land.

_Perhaps it's just the thought of being in a place not Kirkwall,_ he mused as he fell asleep on what he knew to be the final night of their journey. Tomorrow they would arrive at the port of the White City, and if Fenris remembered his stories correctly, he could very well be earning every copper of his pay.


	3. The White City

_**A/N: **Sorry for the extra notification, I promise I won't do this again._

_I've condensed this chapter into the monster it is and made a few edits based on feedback I've gotten. As always, thanks for all the reviews and support I've gotten from everyone, and special thanks to **GirlyGeek **for keeping me grounded while writing. Love ya!_

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CHAPTER THREE: THE WHITE CITY

Althaea's first hint that they were drawing nearer to the port of Val Royeaux was the absolute stench that emanated through the wide windows of the captain's cabin. Kirkwall had a smell of its own, but this...this was much bigger and much more disgusting. Then she heard commotion above decks, most likely as the crew worked to dock the massive galleon.

She had never been to Val Royeaux before, and she was glad Elthina had given her a brief primer on Orlesian custom before her departure. She wondered how well Fenris would cope with the expectations that would surely be put upon them when they arrived.

She started packing the few things she had brought with her. It was expected that there would be clothing for her to wear while in the city, so she had brought little other than her smallclothes, her combs, and a few cosmetics, just in case. It was possible she could get away without wearing one of those horrid masks, as Chantry officials were considered exempt from the custom, but she would probably be expected to garb herself in the colorful Andrastean sunburst or some variant thereof.

Althaea watched as Fenris packed his own things and buckled the various pieces of his armor back on for the first time in a week. She could see a sort of tension crawling back into his posture, almost as if it had been put back on with his armor, and wondered if she should say something to try and ease it a little. Ordinarily, she would place a comforting hand on a shoulder or a friendly hug, but the elven warrior seemed to have an aversion to touch. She had only tried it a couple of times before his flinches and warning glares had suggested strongly she stop.

Part of her wondered if that had to do with his strange markings or something else. Knowing the reputation of Denarius, she suspected that the only touches he was used to receiving had been received in punishment. That magister was particularly twisted and cruel, and when Fenris had told her his name, it had taken everything she had not to screw up her face in an expression of sadness, and pity, and commiseration.

If there was one thing she knew about Fenris, it was that he hated pity. She could have told that much without even a second glance, let alone a week in the same cramped quarters.

She was just about done organizing her things when their young elven servant knocked and entered, accompanied by a Tranquil. She breathed a slight sigh of relief at not having to navigate the giant city on her own, but shuddered a little as she usually did at the presence of one of the glassy-eyed former mages.

"Good afternoon. I trust your journey passed well. My name is Dorothea, and I will be your guide to the Cathedral today."

She said it in the dead, even voice Althaea wished she wasn't used to hearing. In her work for the Chantry, she had to deal with Tranquil on a frighteningly regular basis, but their presence never failed to set her on edge. It was one of the things that made her uncomfortable with the way the Circle worked; neutering the magic talents of mages who couldn't pass their Harrowing _sounded_ more humane than execution, but the result was quite unsettling. If _she _had been a mage, she would rather have the dagger than the brand, but she didn't think any of the failed Circle initiates were given that choice.

_Then again, if I had been born with magic, none of these things would have happened to me in the first place,_ Althaea thought to herself. _I might very well have become my father's right hand, and grown to be as cruel as he._

"Thank you for your assistance, Dorothea. Will my cargo be arriving separately?"

"I have a manifest stating the crates are to be delivered to the West Library for your meeting in two days' time."

_Good enough, _Althaea thought. "Will we be taking a very direct route to the Cathedral?"

"Yes. I would be happy to give you a more thorough tour of the city after you have had a chance to wash and rest from your journey."

"I look forward to it."

Dorothea led them through the dockside market, where fishmongers cried their daily catch and people crowded their way up and around the various stalls. The hustle and bustle energized Althaea, but seemed to set Fenris on edge. He slunk low next to her, eyes scanning the crowd as he kept a watchful eye for anything out of the ordinary. She was thankful for his presence, but didn't think his heightened vigilance was necessary; the crowd parted easily for their Tranquil guide by virtue of her Chantry robes.

Althaea's second thought was that she looked rather plain, even in the dockside market and more so in the streets closer to the Cathedral, which seemed like an analogue to Kirkwall's Hightown. True to Elthina's word, everyone here wore masks, even the servants. And _everyone's _clothing was dyed in shocks of lurid color, greens and reds and blues. It was quite overwhelming at first, but she was eventually able to tunnel her vision and ignore it.

She was distracted by one of the callers in the main market, who held an extraordinary bow at her. It was made of some sort of white material, and was inlaid with lapis and amber at the grip. She beckoned for Dorothea and Fenris to stop, and took it from the merchant reverently, tentatively drawing the string back and looking through the sights. It was incredibly responsive.

As it turned out, it was also incredibly expensive. She gave the bow back to the merchant but continued to look at it with unabashed longing.

"We should keep moving," Fenris said as he nudged her away from the stall. Althaea could swear that the ghost of a smile was on his face as he did so, though, and couldn't bring herself to be offended.

* * *

"This is your suite," said Dorothea placidly as she showed them through a door. They were in one of the many Cathedral annexes, dedicated to the housing of visiting scholars and political powers by the look of it. The ceilings were easily twelve feet high and crowned in elaborate gilded millwork. All in all, their suite was easily four or five times the size of her tower apartment.

"Please settle in as you like," said Dorothea as she turned to leave. "The chamberlain will be here shortly to see to your needs."

Fenris was surveying his surroundings like some sort of wild animal. It looked as if he was cataloguing the schematics of the rooms: points of entry, possible bolt holes, defensible positions. Althaea dipped her head into each of the rooms, which seemed to be similarly furnished.

"Do you have a preference for a bed, Fenris?"

"No," he said shortly. Althaea shrugged and started to head to the outer room, but he stopped her.

"Actually, never mind, I do. I prefer you take the inner room."

"The one without windows?"

"Yes. It would save me a great deal of worry."

It seemed that even after all these years, his instincts as a bodyguard were still very well intact. Then again, that was what Elthina was paying him for, though Althaea thought he'd be able to put them down and relax while in private. She wanted so badly to sink down in the bed, but thought better of it; she had been able to wash up a little during their journey, but was badly in need of a bath and a fresh set of clothes.

Within a quarter of an hour, there was a knock on the door. Fenris cracked it open, then allowed a small army of servants into the suite with a frown.

"They're here to bathe and dress you," he said with evident distaste. She wondered if he was uncomfortable with the number of people in the room or the fact that he couldn't keep track of all of them at once, or that she was being treated as some sort of visiting noble. They bustled in and out, carrying buckets of steaming water to the bath room. Althaea dusted off her leathers as best she could and allowed herself to be led to the bath, but shooed the various attendants out for her sanity's sake.

_I could get used to this again, _she thought as she sank into the fragrant water and blew bubbles out of her nose. She soaked until the water had cooled considerably, then soaped down her hair and body. A towel and silk dressing gown were conveniently placed on a rail near the tub and she finally emerged from the bath room, pink faced and scrubbed. Fenris was waiting on one of the sofas, freshly bathed himself and looking positively livid.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, trying her hardest not to laugh. He looked quite a bit less threatening dressed in a servant's linen tunic and trousers than he did in full armor and imposing black leather.

"They took our clothes to the laundry," he finally said in a low growl. "This was all they gave me to wear." He glared at the chamberlain.

"I won't take it upon myself to discipline your manservant, messere, but he was most unaccommodating," said the chamberlain with a sneer.

Althaea sighed. _I'm going to have to deal with this until we leave, I'm sure. _"My apologies for the misunderstanding, Ser, but Fenris is my companion and armed escort, _not_ my manservant. I would ask that he receives treatment as such, and clothing appropriate for his station."

The chamberlain, confused and flustered, clapped loudly. One of the servants dove out of the room to satisfy Althaea's request. When Althaea was shepherded to her suite by two other servants, Fenris cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms with a smirk, and followed.

He reversed course immediately as she divested herself of the robe and handed it to one of the servants; Althaea looked over her shoulder and laughed as he disappeared. _Prude. _The servants dressed her and coiffed her hair in as simple a style as she could get them to manage. Servants bustled in and out of the room, bringing more dresses as well as two sets of the Andrastian robes she was sure she'd be asked to wear.

"Please see to it that we get a hot meal tonight, please. And soon, I'm quite hungry."

"Does Messere have a preference? I believe there is a fine bouillabaisse still on the cauldron, I can have it up in just a few minutes."

There was a great clatter from Fenris's bedroom and two very frightened looking servants rushed out. Althaea nodded a "yes" to the chamberlain, then dashed in.

He was glowing. Or, more accurately, his markings were, and a pile of clothes lay on the floor.

"Did they try and dress you, too?" she asked, barely suppressing her turn to laugh.

"You _did _tell them to treat me appropriately to my station," he groused, slowly dimming. Althaea picked up the abandoned pile of clothing and placed it on the bed, then handed him a tunic and trousers, perfunctorily folding the rest.

"I'll make sure they don't try and touch you again," she said, smiling, "but I have a feeling you won't have a problem with keeping your privacy at this point."

"I should say so," he said, a little more kindly than before.

"Come out when you're ready, all right? They're bringing up a bouillabaisse for supper."

"A…what?" he asked, frowning.

"It's a sort of fish stew, not altogether different from _satura_, if you've ever had it." By the pleased look on his face, she guessed he had.

"I'll see you in a few minutes," she said, closing the door gently behind her. Then, to the two beleaguered servants outside his room: "You may enter only if the door is open. Anything else can be left just outside the door, and I will take care of it."

She waved them out of the suite; they didn't have to be asked twice. Two servants she hadn't seen before served the stew in large ceramic hot pots, poured a white wine, then awaited orders.

"You may pick up the plates in the morning. Thank you," she said, dismissing them, then thought of Fenris. "Leave the bottle."

* * *

They ate heartily and in silence. Fenris seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the bouillabaisse, picking the shellfish out of the broth and delicately cracking them open to expose the tender flesh inside. After a little while it appeared he had sated his hunger, but Althaea peeked over and saw that the enormous bowl was completely empty.

She was pleasantly full and still had plenty of stew to spare, so she nudged the bowl in his direction. He looked slightly taken aback, but took the bowl anyway and polished that off, as well.

"I should…thank you for clarifying my position with the chamberlain," he said as he sat back in his chair with the glass of wine served him. "He was ready to send me to the servants' quarters before you came away from the bath."

Not for the first time since arriving in their suite, Althaea was offended by the chamberlain's behavior. "That would have been embarrassing, Fenris. I'm sorry."

"Would you have fixed it?" he asked, in an abrupt display of self-doubt. A vulnerable look flashed through his eyes, and Althaea found herself wanting nothing more than to reassure him. It was gone as quickly as it came. _What kind of person do you think I am? _

"Of course I would have!" she exclaimed. "No friend of mine sleeps in _servant's _quarters." She got up and patted him gently on his shoulder; to his credit and her great surprise, he neither flinched nor glared at her.

"I'm going to bed," she said. "Thank you for not laughing at me too hard today."

He nodded with a minute smile and Althaea figured it was the best she would get. She retreated to her room, donned a nightgown, and fell asleep nearly as quickly as her head hit the pillow.

* * *

The next day, Dorothea arrived to provide her promised tour. Althaea had chosen to shirk the mask-wearing custom as the Tranquil was garbed in the Chantry sunburst, effectively exempting them. She had, however, chosen a dress of a sunny yellow she had never seen in Kirkwall and allowed two of the servant girls to dress her hair ornately, braiding and curling her waist-length tresses into a complicated series of plaits her mother would have been proud of. When they left, she had allowed her fingers to wander along the silk and wiggled her toes in the soft leather slippers she had been given to wear.

She wished Fenris would relax a little and enjoy himself in the market district, but he looked more uncomfortable than usual, if that were possible. His leathers hadn't been returned in the morning, and he had been forced to abandon his armor for the time being. He had strapped on his enormous broadsword, though, and maintained the same wary stance he bore in public, ever watchful. Althaea left him to it and wandered happily through the market, eyeing goods she wouldn't buy and enjoying the level of attention she was getting from the merchants by virtue of her ensemble and escort.

Her curiosity was genuinely piqued when one of the callers in the Grand Courtyard ushered her into a parfumerie; she went in gladly, dragging her little entourage with her. Fenris wrinkled his nose at the snarled mess of smells, but Althaea took a great breath and smiled, hands wandering along the bottles until she found what she was looking for.

"May I?" she asked the merchant, who perked up and rushed over to apply a small sample on her wrist.

"Messere is a woman of extraordinary taste," trilled the elegantly-masked woman. She reached for Althaea's wrist, wafting the scent past her own nose in an affected gesture. "Precious few of my clientele appreciate the subtlety of the sweet heliotrope."

"I wore it as a girl, and have never seen it since," she mused, repeating the gesture for herself. "There's something else in here, too - violet? Almond?"

"Messere could very well be my apprentice," the merchant said. "This bottle will last years if you take proper care of it, and a steal at only ten sovereigns!"

Althaea knew that price was a little high. But, heliotrope! It was a scent that brought her back to older, happier times. It smelled like her soft old bed, her pretty dresses, and her mother, applying her powder before one of their ever-more-frequent fêtes.

"_Fenris,_"she said, tugging at his shirt and speaking in Arcanum so the merchant wouldn't understand. "_Do you have coin on you?_"

"_Ten sovereigns, for this thing? You're insane._" Despite the language change, the merchant didn't have to guess too hard to imagine what they were saying.

"_I left my coin at the suite. I swear I'll pay you back!_"

"_Fine,_" he said, looking quite put out but reaching for his coin purse all the same. She was able to haggle the merchant down some and left, still smelling her wrist and smiling.

In one of the lower markets, Althaea found a set of playing cards and a necklace made of polished shell, bringing her total debt to Fenris up a few silvers and at least five favors for his high state of annoyance. Dorothea proved herself quite the docent, bringing them through the various streets of the city and stopping at the University, the Cathedral proper, and the grand entrance of the White Spire, home of the Orlesian Circle of Magi. Althaea drank in the sights with ill-concealed wonderment.

"It's grand, like Minrathous used to be, I think," she said to Fenris, who chuckled at her in tolerant amusement. She was still passing her wrist across her nose every few minutes and had donned the necklace. "It's just…younger."

Dinner was a slightly more complicated affair as the serving staff had more time to prepare. The Orlesians seemed to want to show off their cuisine, and they were treated to more seafood - lobster, various fish, and a buttery assortment of vegetables. They broke in the new set of cards at the table later that night as Althaea spent what seemed like hours freeing her hair from the morning's style, placing the hairpins in a growing mound next to the discarded cards from their games. She was in her nightgown now, and they played by candlelight rather than the lyrium glow lamps which seemed to be ubiquitous everywhere else in the city.

"Remind me never to let them do that again," she said as she tugged a particularly difficult braid away from the rest, mouthing _ow ow ow_ as she finally got the thing free.

Fenris shook his head. "I don't understand why you didn't just do it yourself," he said.

"It's not every day one gets a small army of servants to attend them. I was just availing myself of the fine amenities we've been provided."

"And your ten sovereign bottle of perfume…?" he asked, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

"Would you pay ten sovereigns for all your memories in a bottle? I would," she said, defiantly. Fenris shrugged, and it appeared Althaea had made her point. "Besides, I haggled her down to nine and a quarter."

"What a deal," he said in an imitation of the perfumer's affected accent. "You still owe me ten."

"Yes, yes, fine, I'm good for it," she said, dashing back to the room for her coin before she forgot to pay the harrassed elf back.

* * *

Althaea meant no harm the next morning when she decided to let Fenris sleep in. _Hopefully he can catch some of what he missed last night_, she thought as she scribbled him a short note, sliding it under his door:

_Gone to West Library to do some work. Enjoy a day to yourself, it's likely to be boring here. See you at supper._

_ -A_

So when Fenris showed up at the West Library, absolutely incensed, Althaea was surprised both by his presence and his attitude. His dramatic entrance sent a couple of the regular librarians scrambling for cover.

"_Avanna,_" she said lightly, doing her best to pretend that Fenris was not actually as angry as he looked. "Is everything okay?"

"No, everything is _not_ okay," he said angrily. "I woke up and you were gone. Why didn't you wake me?"

"I thought you needed the sleep," she said gently. "Didn't you get my note?"

Fenris looked around. It appeared he had scared off the two librarians for the time being, but he still spoke quietly, as if embarrassed. "I am not aware of the customs in Solas, but in Minrathous, slaves are not permitted to read."

She reddened at her realization, covering her mouth with one of her hands. "Oh, Maker - Fenris, I am so sorry - I just assumed…"

"You assumed incorrectly," he said, a little more loudly, but seemingly mollified by her chagrin. She recovered and took the note from him.

"I'd be happy to help you rectify that, you know," she told him, in a more chipper voice. "The reading, I mean."

He considered her for a moment. "Right now…?"

"Well, not right _now_. I have a lot of work to do and until you have the basics down I'd have to give you my full attention…but when we get back I'd be happy to sit down with you a spell and teach you."

"I'll have to consider it," he said after regarding the offer a moment and apparently deciding she didn't mean anything offensive by it. "What did the note say?"

"It says I've gone to the West Library to work, and that you should enjoy the day to yourself, and that I'd see you at supper." Though she paraphrased it, she took care to point the words out as she read them.

He took the note back, folding it and putting it in his pocket. "I'll just go…do that, then. And I'll see you at supper." She looked up at him and smiled as he left the library, and could have sworn he was trying to return it as he stalked out with quite a bit less venom than when he had entered.

* * *

_From the journal of Althaea Serra_

_12 Ferventis, 9:34 Dragon_

_It's been a while since I've had a chance to write anything down and I meant to catalogue every detail of my time in Val Royeaux, but I've allowed myself to get caught up in the spirit of the moment instead. Hopefully I'll still remember it all by the time I get back home and have time to dedicate to something other than a quick jot at a piece of spare parchment._

_My meeting with the Grand Archivist yesterday went better than planned, save for a momentary interruption by Fenris, whose ire I unintentionally drew by letting him sleep in. He looked like he'd been getting so little of it in the last couple of days, in comparison to the time we spent en route to Val Royeaux, so it seemed all right; I'll not make that mistake again. That being said, I find myself constantly amazed by the dedication he's shown in his task, but I have to admit it's a little uncomfortable at times. He follows me like a shadow, and it wasn't until the incident in the library that I was able to convince him of my safety here in the Cathedral. He makes it abundantly clear he's no ordinary sellsword and the evidence of his former servitude is written all over his manner…if only I could tell him how much I identify with that. Other than that, though, he's shown himself to be clever, capable, and quite gentlemanly. I worry maybe that last part might be nothing more than his servile instincts re-emerging in the presence of someone he perceives to be his better, but I dearly hope not. _

_The Grand Archivist was thrilled with the scrolls I'd presented him, though they're only half-translated. He says it's a start and that the Divine will be pleased to know that evidence of Andraste's followers could be found as far south as the Free Marches in a time where most scribes still used Tevene. That seems to be what they are at the very least, but imagine my pride if I was one of the first to hold a new canticle of the Chant? It warms me to entertain the thought, even if it's unlikely. I was given an invitation to a grand masquerade tomorrow evening and there I will be expected to briefly present myself to the Divine and request the services of a more capable translator._

_In preparation for the masquerade, the chamberlain and a small army of tailors invaded our suite in the afternoon to measure us for the ensembles we'd be wearing. My heart nearly stopped when I was told the theme of the masquerade would be based on our family crests. I have been using my mother's surname since leaving Tevinter, but never once thought I would have to remember her coat of arms! It didn't take long to remember the charge, but the colors were another story completely. I must have looked like such a fool because Fenris stood at the threshold of the door, wearing a smirk on his face for the ages. I had a brief revenge when the tailors descended on _him_, though. I don't think he expected to escort me wearing anything other than his full set of armor, because wasn't happy when I told him he wouldn't be allowed to bring weapons into the grand ballroom. Somehow I get the impression he would still be a formidable opponent, even without his sword._

_In truth half of me is worried about the dance. While I seriously doubt that any Tevinter nobles would be caught dead at a Chantry function, it's possible some of my Antivan cousins may be there, and while the Serra family isn't terribly high up the ladder, the Badger is recognizable enough among the highborn of the weyrs. It might invite questions I'm not comfortable answering, and my Antivan is fluent enough but _Mamae_ always scolded me on my odd accent. My other half, however, is completely enchanted with the opportunity to play at being one of the gentry again. In fact, everything about Val Royeaux reminds me of home, and I'm not sure if I'll be glad to leave it or not._

_We were given tickets to see the dance corps perform tonight -_

"Are you decent?" Fenris's voice said at the door.

"Yes, come in. I was just writing." He watched as Althaea finished her sentence, then dried her quill.

"We should leave soon if you were planning on walking to the arts district," he said. He was already dressed, wearing a fine corded dress coat and tunic…and shoes. Althaea did a double-take.

"You're wearing shoes," she said stupidly.

"And _you_ have a talent for stating the obvious," he said, though it sounded less an insult than a good-natured jest. "They looked comfortable." He frowned a little. "Does this look all right?"

"You almost look like a real gentleman," she said with a half-cocked smile. "What about me?"

"The color is a good choice," he said, obviously struggling to find something else to say. "It matches your eyes." Then, responding to Althaea's raised eyebrow: "'You look lovely.' Is that what you were waiting for me to say?"

"Absolutely it was," she said, smiling in full this time.

"Damnable woman," he said with a tut as they left their suite and walked toward the theatre. The night was warm and Althaea was glad she hadn't worn a cloak.

"I…I don't actually think I've ever been to a theatre performance," Fenris admitted to her as they neared the arts district. "Is there anything I should keep in mind?"

"To be honest, I don't know…it's been so long and I've never been on the other side of the stage…"

"You were a dancer?"

"Not quite. My mother stopped sending me to lessons when it became clear I was finishing out a bit too short, and that my talent for archery was much greater, so I focused on that. But my sister, she could have been a professional if she hadn't shown such a talent for magic."

"You have a sister?" he asked. This was the first time she'd mentioned any of her siblings except in passing.

"I have two of them. Victoria is five years my elder, and Alexia, more like five minutes."

"A twin!"

"We're not identical, not in the least. She was long and lean, almost as tall as you, perfect build for a dancer. And…stunningly gorgeous, though last I heard she was rejecting suitors in favor of maintaining her apprenticeship." Fenris must picked up on the implied meaning of that statement, because he smirked and shook his head in distaste. "In comparison I was a barn swallow next to a peacock, but I have my uses."

The self-deprecating statement wasn't lost on him either, because he smirked and shook his head again; this time with a low chuckle.

"What?" Althaea asked in minor irritation.

"You give yourself too little credit," was all he said as he held the theatre door open for her. Althaea considered that for a little while as they took their seats.

"I could say the same thing about you," she said, but he shushed her as the curtain came up.

* * *

Fenris paced in the greatroom of their suite while Althaea allowed the tailors to finish the final touches on her dress. The tailors hadn't descended upon him yet, thankfully, but at Althaea's insistence he allowed himself to be led to a bath in preparation for it. She, on the other hand, had spent nearly the entire day in the bathing room of the suite, being scrubbed clean from head to toe while attendants clucked at everything from the state of her ink-stained fingernails to the split ends of her hair.

Those things had been rectified easily enough, by the look of it. When she had emerged from the bathing room, she was dressed in a soft silk robe and the beginnings of her hairstyle were already in place: the hair had been wrapped around rags to curl the ends and several braids were in place, forming a sort of headband made of her own hair. He guessed the rags would be removed at some point in the evening to let the rest of her hair fall free.

He'd glared at her when she'd allowed herself to be sat in front of her own dressing table and to have makeup applied, but she'd simply given him her sweet half-smile and allowed the attendants to continue working, applying kohl to her eyes and blush to her already rosy cheeks. He didn't understand why they would go to all this trouble to perfect her face if it would just be hidden by the mask lying on the table next to her, but very little made sense to him in Orlais, much like it had in Tevinter. At least here he could express his confusion without an unwelcome visit from the whip.

For a hurried piece of work, it actually was quite beautiful; the maskmaker had managed to interpret the Serra badger in onyx and ivory. He didn't think the piece would be gifted to Althaea - the materials used were far too valuable for that - but it was a fine thing nonetheless and he thought she would be glad to wear it for the evening.

He had left the room briefly when Althaea's attendants had stripped her of the robe and helped Althaea into the dress, but even then he couldn't avoid catching a brief glimpse of her form, half-hidden as it was by the fall of her hair. He was far too familiar with how comfortable Tevinter highborn were with being naked, especially around their servants, but he didn't consider himself such and wasn't entirely sure he could look Althaea in the eye if he had allowed himself to stick around.

So, instead of watching the girl get into the purple and gold brocade dress, he had entered the greatroom and started pacing. It had only gone on for several minutes when another set of servants descended upon him. He decided not to fight them off this time, and they had gone through the business of combing and styling his hair, at first trying to hide his elven ears but then giving up. _Anyone would know by my face, anyway, so what's the point?_ They then handed him a set of clothing: a piped vest to match the purple of Althaea's gown, trousers, and a set of soft leather boots that rose to his knee. He obligingly donned the ensemble behind the changing screen, then inspected himself in the mirror.

_You almost look like a real gentleman._ The words out of Althaea's mouth last night had been spoken in jest, but looking at himself in the mirror, he couldn't help but stand a little straighter, mimicking the chin-up posture Althaea wore when she was trying to evoke a sense of authority and control.

_You give yourself too little credit_, he thought, and for one of the first times in his memory, standing in front of that mirror, he considered himself a handsome man, and smiled at that thought.

Then he turned around to see Althaea watching him watch himself in the mirror. He straightened, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "How do I look?"

"Quite charming, actually." She hadn't donned the mask yet, and her hair had been taken out of the rags to fall in soft curls down her back. The dress itself was beautiful despite having been thrown together in a matter of hours, with a high-collared overdress made of the same purple brocade as Fenris's vest and a subtle chemise made of golden silk. The neckline of the thing plunged deep into her chest, and would have bordered on obscene if Althaea had been better endowed.

He had no words, and Althaea simply raised one of her delicate fingers up and helped him close his open mouth, then brushed a lock of hair out of his face. "Shall we?"

* * *

Althaea was masked now and breathing in measured movements. Fenris didn't think anyone else would have been able to notice, but he was a born gambler and he knew a card-playing stance when he saw one. She was as nervous as a bronto on marbles and he was beginning to wonder if any of this was a good idea.

She pulled him to a side hallway before joining the entry line into the grand ballroom, asking "Can I have a word with you?" Of course she could have a word with him, especially if it gave him some insight as to why she was so anxious to enter the masquerade. He followed her.

"You are uneasy," he said when they were away from any stray ears. "Tell me why."

"I was just thinking while we were walking. I...the last thing I want to do tonight is be memorable. At all."

Fenris understood that. He'd had his own reservations about coming down here tonight, but had decided that his ensemble hid his markings well enough. He was relatively sure he was safe, so what was her problem?

She continued, speaking quickly and quietly. "It's just that...tonight, I'm going to have a part to play. And I know at some point, I'm going to offend you. These people...most of them are bigoted, pretentious, and rude. I hate that. I've always hated that. And one of them is going to say something about you I'm going to hate, and I'm not going to be able to say anything back, else I offend them, and they remember me, do you understand?"

"I understand." So, he was to be her 'manservant' tonight, and he would have to play that part if he was to be down here with her, if he was to guard her as he had been hired to do. That was most definitely not what he had in mind when he had taken the coin from Sebastian two weeks ago.

She took off her mask, briefly, so he could see the sincerity in her face as she spoke. "I just want you to know that if I say something, I don't mean it. I just wanted to apologize in advance."

The best thing to do when encountered with a pit of vipers was to slither and hiss as well, Fenris decided. "I shall endeavor to be an attentive servant," he finally said. He wasn't going to like this one bit, but knowing she wouldn't either made it a little easier.

Some offspring of a magister she was.

Her adorably relieved smile disappeared behind the ivory mask. "I owe you my thanks for that, Fenris. Really."

He inclined his head and was sure to walk a few steps behind her as she gracefully made her way toward the entry line.

He knew this part. He'd played it for years, but never once did he think he might find himself playing it by choice.

* * *

The snaking line finally crawled up to the entry staircase, and the master of ceremonies took Althaea's gilded invitation.

"Althaea Serra, and escort," he cried out to the crowd below. She wondered if his voice was going to give out any time soon; he had been at his task for well over an hour without so much as a sip of water. As she had hoped, her name hadn't turned any heads.

Thank the Maker for small favors.

She descended the stairs, Fenris following a few steps behind. She knew the Orlesians would never have accepted him as anything but her manservant, but having to subject him to playing this game still made her uncomfortable. She looked back at him. His face was even more inscrutable than usual, if that were even possible, and she knew she would owe him for this one.

She made her way toward the large serving table, laid with an assortment of fruits, candies, and…a champagne fountain. _Just the thing_, she decided as she walked toward it.

"Would Messere care for a libation?" Fenris asked as he made his way toward the fountain.

"You read my mind," she said, smiling. She knew he couldn't see it, but hoped it would translate in her voice. He held a crystal glass into the fountain and handed it to her with a flourish. She hung along the wall, removing her mask a bit to sip.

He was analyzing the situation, she could tell as much now, sidling up to her and waiting for his next order. She watched the dancers as they moved across the floor for a time. A gavotte, an allemande, a farandole. She knew these, at least, but still hoped that no one would ask her hand to the floor. She made no attempts to engage anyone in conversation, but spoke when she was spoken to, careful not to offer up too many details, and finally made her way to the receiving line for the Divine, sitting on a dais reserved for the guest of honor. The game came back to her despite years of having stuffed it in the back of her mind.

She curtsied low before the Divine, who was wearing a headdress that must have weighed nearly a ton. How she was holding it up was anyone's guess, to be sure, but she seemed to be settling into her new role with little difficulty.

"Most Holy," she uttered as she rose from her curtsey, taking care to hide her accent and removing her mask as all the other supplicants had. "I am Althaea Serra, a research archivist for the Kirkwall chantry."

"Ah, yes. I was told you would be here tonight, Miss Serra, and about the scrolls you have been working on in the past months. Is it true they might be evidence of southern Andrasteans? So close to the time of her sacrifice?"

She lowered her voice. "Most Holy, I think it might actually be more significant than that. A new canticle, perhaps. I cannot tell, Most Holy. My knowledge of Old Tevene is fragmentary at best."

"And yet these scrolls are already partially translated?" The Divine raised an eyebrow, whether in admiration or disbelief Althaea wasn't sure.

"Yes, Your Perfection. I applied my meager talents as judiciously as possible, but I was told to approach you tonight to request the services of another translator."

"I shall have to think on that, Miss Serra. Please await my summons in the city," she said, waving a dismissive hand. Althaea curtsied again, then left the dais.

"That went well," she muttered to Fenris when she was out of earshot. He chuckled. "I think we can wait just a little longer and then make our way out," she said to him quietly. "I don't want to be here any longer than -"

"Messere Serra, I presume?" The voice behind her was smooth, male, and Antivan. _Shit._

She was glad for the mask, but schooled her face into a smile anyway, racking her memory for the name behind the device he was wearing. _You know it, Althaea, just spit it out…it's there, it's there…Maker, I hope I'm right…_

"I didn't think to find a Vega so far away from Antiva," she said politely, in an Antivan accent, and in a tone that suggested she might actually be happy to see him.

"I didn't think to find any Antivans, myself, but Serras are as numerous as the stars themselves. He passed Fenris and grabbed a drink from the tray of a passing servant, handing it to her. "My name is Pascual," he said. "May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"

"I am Althaea."

"And tell me," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in close. "Are you one of the legitimate variety?" He was referring to the proclivity of the various Serra heirs for siring bastards. She giggled a little, a genuine laugh, and wondered if he was wearing a rakish grin beneath his mask. She actually liked this one!

"A true lady never tells," she said. She might like him, but she still didn't want to give away any more than necessary.

"This is true!" He winked, then gestured to his small entourage. "Let me introduce you to my friends: Rogelio, Andrés, and Mariana." Each of them inclined their heads in turn.

"And now, Althaea - may I have the pleasure of a dance? They're playing a sarabande just for us."

Althaea took his hand, fighting the urge to turn back to Fenris for his approval, and followed Pascual to the dance floor.

"Tell me, Althaea," said Pascual between the various steps of the dance. "What brings you so far away from home?"

"I was pledged to the Chantry when I came of age," she said simply. She knew that some of her maternal cousins had done so, anyway.

"How very quaint. And how do you like your service?"

"They have assigned me a task worthy of my talents, and I enjoy all the comforts of home. I couldn't ask for more!" She curtsied then reached for his hand, parading around in a semicircle as the steps of the dance dictated, then returning to the start.

"Have you seen many Antivans in your time here?"

"No - you are the first. I have to admit, it's comforting." They bowed to each other and he took her into a dip.

"Very good!" The song ended and he led her off the floor and back to his friends. "What say you we take our leave of the…festivities here, get rid of these tiresome masks, and see the best of what the White City has to offer four gems of Antiva?"

It was as good a reason as any to get out of here, Althaea decided. She could always take her leave on account of having "duties to attend to in the morning".

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," she said. He leaned into her with another conspiratorial whisper. "Do you think you can ditch your knife-eared nursemaid?"

Okay, now she wasn't sure she liked him anymore, but she was trapped. "Not if I want to hold my own drinks, I don't."

"Well then, we'll just have to make sure he partakes enough to keep his mouth shut." He eyed Fenris with an appraising eye. "Not that he isn't a strapping young specimen, to be sure. Perhaps you'll…lend him to me?"

"Maybe next time," she said, taking his arm and allowing Pascual to lead her out of the ballroom. She was going to owe him twice, now.

For now, though, she might allow herself to get into a little bit of trouble.

* * *

They were singing drunkenly down the streets, masks abandoned, when Fenris realized where they were and took a few long steps to meet Althaea's pace.

"We're in the alienage," he said to her, very quietly. Althaea had a look around and realized he was right. Then she hustled up to Pascual, voice in a whisper.

"Is there a reason we're here?"

"I thought you wouldn't say no to slumming it a bit!" he exclaimed in a loud slur. "I heard of a _great_ little hole in the wall just up the high street."

Althaea was very uncomfortable with this. Pascual and his mates had already proven themselves to be spoiling for a fight and being in the alienage was not going to help their attitudes any. _Now is as good a time as any to bow out_, she thought to herself, then fell back to where Fenris was.

"I know you're unarmed, but can we make it back okay if we left right now?"

"Yes," he said. She had seen his manner become even more wary as the night had progressed; at first he had allowed himself to relax and let Pascual treat him to a few glasses of wine, but as the rowdy Antivan nobles had become more and more inebriated he had stopped drinking and reverted back to his default state of vigilance. Althaea doubted anyone would notice if they slipped away and went back to the Cathedral, and she was sure it would make him feel better.

It was when they made this decision when she glimpsed a man standing on one of the shoddy balconies lining the alienage street. The alienage in Kirkwall was bad enough, cramped and dirty, but this…place was as small and even more crowded than the rest. Rumor had it over ten thousand elves made their home here, and evidence of that was hanging in the air, a stench of shit, filth, and desperation.

Althaea's eyes grew wide as she saw that the man on the balcony was fixing a rope round one of the rafters. Then, the Antivans caught sight of the man, as well.

"Look, friends! Looks like the knife-eared blighter is going to jump!" Pascual yelled out. His cronies giggled. "Can't take your miserable life any longer, little man? I wouldn't either, if I lived in this place." The man said nothing, but continued to absolve himself of the grim task of fastening his own noose. Althaea, finally startled out of her inaction, pushed Pascual out of the way and rushed up a set of stairs that looked like they led to the man's vantage point.

When she arrived, she stood at the doorway leading to what looked like his home. It was bare, stripped of anything that looked of value save for an elegantly carved bow and quiver, and a leather-bound book on a table. The man turned around, misery and a searing anger playing over his face.

"Have you come to help me along, shem?" he asked her with a sneer. "Wanted a front-row seat?"

"No," she barely whispered. The Antivans on the ground hooted and cheered, and one of them yelled out, "Push him, Serra!"

"Uh…" she stumbled on her words as she took a couple of tentative steps toward him. He tensed.

"Please, don't," she said in as gentle a tone as she could manage. "Just…let me shut them up." The elf, confused and frightened, let her pass, but kept his gaze on her as she did. As he did, she was suddenly aware of just how revealing her ball dress was and blushed a little. She popped her head over the balcony, and locked eyes with Fenris. His gaze was wide-eyed and intense, and he seemed to be waiting for instruction.

"Fenris, can you do me the honors of shutting these sods up?" He nodded at her, and as she turned back to the elf in front of her, the hooting below changed into shouts of confusion and chaos. She winced a little; that was not exactly what she was expecting from him. Given his treatment by the Antivans, though, Althaea wasn't offended by the actions following his sudden deliverance from their ruse.

"I'm sorry about them. I just met them tonight and we were just realizing what bad company they were when I saw you…"

The elf eyed her with suspicion and confusion in equal measure. He was not much taller than Althaea, and just as narrow as she; tattoos played across his face, similar to the carvings on the bow.

"You're Dalish," she said. "Where is your clan?"

"Gone - your Templars killed them all." Her eyebrows knit together in disbelief. "They tried to take our Keeper to the Circle."

"I'm so sorry."

"Save your pity, _shem_," he spat, "and let me get back to my business." He started to work at the rope again, but Althaea tugged him back into the room.

"Please," Althaea begged as he whirled on her in rage and frustration. "Don't do this."

"And do what? Return to my life, here in this pale imitation of the freedom I once had? They hate me, these city elves. They think I am some sort of bandit, or worse. I lost my wife…my son…there is nothing left. Leave me be!"

Althaea had a thought and drew a tiny vial from a pouch in her bodice. _Maker forgive me for the sin I am about to commit._ "If you would do this, let me at least ease your passing. There is no dignity in the noose." She saw a glint in his eyes, as if he were considering her offer.

"What is it?"

"I keep it on my person…just in case. It's called 'the quiet death'; it's as easy as falling asleep."

"I have…heard of it, and even sought to purchase it," he said. He seemed to be relaxing in her presence. "It is incredibly rare, and expensive." He turned the vial over in his hands, examining it. "It was out of my reach."

They stood in silence for a while. Althaea tried to imagine what was going through his head. At the very least, she was sure he thought her a very odd girl. What injustices had he and his clan suffered at human hands? At the Chantry's?

"If I stopped you tonight, would you try again?" she asked.

"I have suffered long, shem, and I am tired. I would gladly go by the noose or by any other way."

"Who will mourn you?" She ventured to reach up to his shoulder, and he didn't shirk from the touch.

"I have already paid the undertaker," he said, face set in grim resignation.

"That's not what I asked," she said gently, cupping his cheek in her hand. His eyes met hers; they were a rich golden hue. He looked young, maybe only a few years older than she. "Who will mourn you?"

"As I said before, my clan is gone."

Althaea didn't know what else to do and hoped silently that the Dalish weren't the types to be offended by open displays of affection. She hooked her arms around him and pulled him into a gentle embrace. He gave a little start and didn't return it.

"I will," she said. "But I don't know how."

The elf shook his head with a bemused smirk on his face, then finally put one of his spindly arms around her shoulders. "You are quite remarkable…for a human." Releasing her, he sat on his tiny cot and unstoppered the vial. "How long will it take?" He was looking a little scared now, and Althaea was secretly hoping he would lose his resolve.

"I don't know. Maybe an hour."

"Will you stay with me?" He asked. Althaea fought the tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to blur her vision.

"Yes, of course." The man's face, so angry at first, was becoming more and more vulnerable as he drew the vial closer to his lips, then drank.

He calmly spoke to her of the forests where his clan had made camp, and how he met his wife, and the birth of his son. But when he tried to teach her a Dalish mourning song, he became like a child, scared and lonely. It was then that Althaea gathered him up into her arms, hushing him and running her fingers through his hair. It was what her mother used to do when she was inconsolable, and it seemed fitting now. She sang a lullaby she knew, a piece about the Minanter River she learned in the summer she spent vacationing near Hasmal. She was dimly aware of Fenris lurking in the shadows near the entryway, but couldn't bring herself to acknowledge him.

His breathing was growing deeper and his body grew heavier in her arms, but he was still able to whisper to her. "Take the bow, and the book. They are the only things I treasure. If you find any Dalish, give them the book…"

Althaea nodded her assent. She hummed the song he had taught her, desperate to commit it to memory.

His last words were barely audible, the ghost of his breath lingering in her ear. "Dareth shiral, shemlen."

"Dareth shiral," she whispered back, not knowing what it meant. He didn't speak again, and ceased to breathe several minutes later.

* * *

All Althaea wanted to do when she got back into the suite was rip her Maker-cursed gown off, but the thing refused to cooperate and she was forced to ask for Fenris's help, embarrassing as it was. Without it, though, she would be trapped in a prison of brocade and silk, stained and wrinkled nearly to oblivion by the evening's events. She had been grateful for his silence when they had descended from the stairs in the alienage, but now she found herself wishing he would say something…anything. Instead, he silently manipulated the copious buttons of the bodice, slowly freeing her from it. Thanking him, she disappeared into her room to divest herself of the rest of it and change into her nightgown. She let her braids down, brushing her hair into some semblance of order, then walked back out, trying to shed some of her grief and anger.

He had changed into something simpler while she had changed from the gown, and waited for her in the sitting room. He handed her a glass of wine, which she took gratefully.

"I meant to have you try this before the masquerade," he said as she took it, touched by his thoughtfulness. "There just wasn't a proper moment."

She swirled the glass and sniffed. Whatever it was, it was red, and smelled deeply of oak and earth. _Might be a bit strong for me,_ she thought as she took a taste. It was lighter than it smelled, and the warmth of it radiated from her inside out. She closed her eyes and smiled as she let the flavor sit on her tongue. When she opened them again, she saw he was watching her reaction carefully, and she turned as red as the wine.

"What is it?" she asked, as she curled into the plush sofa of the sitting room.

"It's called 'Avalia Pamunalis'. The winery that produces it is not too far away from Solas, as I understand it."

"It's amazing."

"I thought you might like it." He took a seat next to her. "I also thought you might need it."

She sighed. "It's not every night you get a reminder that the gentry are anything but, is it?"

"Do you...want to talk about it?"

Althaea was tempted to finish the glass in one long drink, but she was sure she'd get a lecture from Fenris, who was proving himself to be quite the wine enthusiast. Thus, she took another delicate sip, and thought about how best to sum up her feelings about what had happened, and wondered just when he had made his appearance at the door.

"He was Dalish," she said finally, scanning his face for any sort of reaction to no avail. "Templars killed his clan in an attempt to take their Keeper to the Circle." She shook her head sadly. "He had nothing left."

"Did you try and talk him out of it?"

"I thought about it for a while, but I decided not to. It seemed...sacrilegious, if that makes any sense to you."

"It doesn't," he said flatly. _Maker, I'd give an entire city worth of gold to know what he was thinking right now._

"Every argument I could have made against his choice was based on my own beliefs. Why would I speak to him of the Maker when he has gods of his own? Or even more, why would I try and make him see that his life was still worth living, if I knew nothing of it?" She buried her face in her hands. "If I told him things would get better, it might have been a lie, and I never could have lived with that. I keep...well, I used to keep a poison on my person, just in case. I offered it to him as an alternative."

She noticed his mask finally slip, as his jaw dropped and his eyes narrowed. "Why would you _ever_ have something like that?"

"I'd risk my soul if it meant escaping even five minutes of what my father would do to me." She threw her head back against the headrest of the sofa and spoke to the ceiling, shaking her head. "It's a moot point now. I spent my life savings on that poison, and I'll never see it again."

Fenris was still staring at her in some sort of contemptuous disbelief, but it began to slide off into something more like commiseration. Althaea took some comfort in that, glad that she hadn't totally alienated him with her confession.

"He had no one to mourn him," she said after a few minutes, picking up her glass of wine again. "I thought we might take on that task."

"To the dearly departed, then," said Fenris, raising his glass solemnly. Althaea brought hers up to meet it with a _clink_.

"To the dearly departed, may your gods be as kind as the Maker wasn't." They drank. "I wish I had the chance to know his name. He reminded me so very much of Marius."

"You've mentioned him several times. What was he like?"

"He was…I don't know. Proud, steadfast…but a little wild." She laughed bitterly. "My father was never able to tame him. That man in the alienage tonight seemed like the man he would have become." The recollection of him brought a wistful smile to her face. "He was my first."

"Your…? Oh," Fenris said, a bit of color coming to his cheeks.

Althaea's colored at the sight of it, and she stammered, "I am so sorry. That was inappropriate of me."

"It's all right," he said. "That's just…not something I've ever spoken about to anyone."

"You mean to say…?" Althaea was dumbfounded at the thought.

"I might have before the markings, but I don't remember, and there's been no one since. I have…never allowed anyone to become too close."

"That sounds like a very lonely way to live a life," said Althaea with a sad smile.

"It seems to me the only way to live _my_ life."

Althaea shrugged, sensing that probing him deeper on that line of conversation would only end up souring the evening further. "You said you've been to Seheron?" she asked, changing the subject.

"It was where I made my escape, yes."

"I was there, once. It's a beautiful place. I think what I remember most of all though were the coconuts." His baffled face made her laugh, and she abandoned her empty glass for the bottle.

"The…coconuts." He raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Yes!" she said, smiling. "Marius would take me on these incredible hikes, and I'd climb a promising looking tree and shake them down to the ground. Marius would catch them, and we'd gather them up and take them to his mother at the end of the day. She'd help me break them open, and we'd spend a while digging the meat out, and grinding it up for her -"

"I'm having a hard time believing any magister would allow his daughter to work, in a kitchen, with slaves."

"He didn't know…not for a long time, at least, and Cora taught me everything I know about cooking." She fought against tears for a moment, while Fenris watched. She blamed herself for Marius's death - it had a lot to do with her father finding out about the exact nature of her relationship with the young elf.

"I tried to convince him to run away with me."

"You did?"

"He wouldn't leave his parents behind. I wasn't entirely convinced I should, either. Maker, we were so _stupid_. My brother Gaius discovered us in the stables…It would only have been hilariously embarrassing if it had been Draco, or even Alexia, but Gaius was my father's heir. He could never let it stand." She sighed. "A week later, Marius was dead, and I had no one to blame but myself."

They drank for a long while, talking quietly of nothing too important. They polished off the bottle of the Pamunalis and moved on to a Rivaini brandy Fenris had found in one of the cavernous cabinets of the suite.

"You know, I never properly mourned Marius's death. I never had time, I…" she stopped. What would have followed was something she never told anyone, not even Sebastian. "I never had time."

Fenris stretched his legs out on the table in front of the sofa, looking more comfortable than Althaea had ever seen him. "Maybe tonight was the Maker's way of giving you a second chance at it."

"I hadn't thought of it that way." The brandy, like the wine, was warming her up from the inside out, and washing the events of the night away. She tried to bring her feet up on the table, too, but missed; Fenris chuckled and she rolled her eyes at him.

"I miss him a lot," she said. "No one understood me quite the way he did." He made a soft noise of agreement.

The wine and brandy had finally gotten to her, and Althaea sighed as she relaxed into the sofa, drunkenly leaning her head against Fenris's shoulder. He gave a little start, but didn't push her away.

She hummed the Dalish song for a while and wept until her grief was replaced by sweet oblivion, then finally surrendered her consciousness to the Fade.

* * *

The first thing Fenris sensed as he woke up was a smell, sweet and somewhat powdery. Then the feel of something soft…

Hair. His face was buried in it. He came to.

He opened his eyes, straightened up, and stretched as best he could against the sofa. He sat, trying to figure out how best to extricate himself without waking Althaea, but she awakened with a groan, frowning and rubbing at her neck.

She looked up at him, kohl-rimmed eyes smudged from drunkenness and tears, then appeared to realize just where she was: nestled in the nook of his arm. She blinked a couple of times, then solved his problem for him by standing up rather quickly. Wordlessly, she stumbled over to the bathing room, and Fenris head the sound of splashing as she filled a washbasin full of water.

If there was one consistency he could count on with the woman, it was her need to stay clean, no matter the circumstance. He got up with a small chuckle, stretched more completely, and went to ring the bell that would page the staff for their breakfast.

"How are you feeling?" Althaea asked, somewhat muffled from behind the threshold of the washroom.

"I really should be asking that question of _you_," said Fenris, as he grabbed an apple from a crystal bowl on one of the counters. Althaea emerged from the washroom, patting her bleary eyes with a soft towel.

"Hung over," she said, rubbing her temples and sitting at the dining table, head in one of her hands. Her other hand wandered over the carvings of the Dalish bow she had placed there upon their return. "I was really rather hoping all this was a cruel trick of the Fade."

Fenris didn't know what to say to that, so he simply joined her at the table and bit at the apple. She reached for the bow in front of her and frowned at it.

"I wonder if I can get access to the armory…it needs to be strung."

Of course the thing was unstrung, but Althaea probably didn't know that elves in the alienage weren't allowed weapons. It was a miracle he was allowed to have it, even as it was.

"We can ask the staff when they come up with breakfast," he said. "I rang for them while you washed up." She yawned her thanks.

This was going to be a very long day.

* * *

She _had_, in the end, managed to get into the armory. While she had still worn a dress for the day, she had taken care to choose something with adequate room to move around in. The archery master had allowed her access to the tools she needed to make the Dalish longbow functional again.

He watched with interest as she threw herself into the task, oiling and polishing the wood of the bow, then restringing it. She had been subdued all morning, eating in silence and speaking only as much as needed to get her point across. As she worked, she occasionally hummed the song she'd learned the night before. She tested the draw of the string, then released it slowly, careful not to dry fire the bow.

"Verdict?" he asked. He never thought _he'd _be the one to crave something other than silence.

"It might be a little heavy on the draw for me, but it's a solid piece." She turned to the archery master. "Is there a range nearby?"

He pointed out the window, and downstairs they went. There were several Templar archers on the range already, and her presence was met with a few raised eyebrows. She stretched and walked to an empty lane, choosing a comfortably close distance and stretching a bit to limber up.

The first couple of shots she took went awry, but she appeared to get a feel for the bow and made several bullseyes in a row, moving a few yards back every time. When she moved to the fifty yard mark, it was met with smirks and even a bit of open laughter.

As she drew the string back, he saw something he'd never quite seen in her, a sort of martial concentration he normally associated with Hawke and his companions.

She released the arrow and it hit its mark, then she did the same at seventy yards. Fenris noted that the laughter on the range had turned into a hush. She looked at him with a little smile, then went to retrieve her arrows.

"This might be the greatest gift I've ever been given," she said, reverently unstringing the bow. "I'll treasure it always."

If she ever decided to apply her skill to the heat of battle, she'd prove a dangerous foe indeed; but as she said on the _Bonne Chance_, she was 'too delicate' for mercenary life.

As they walked back to their suite, Fenris wondered just how much steel he'd find in her if she was pressed hard enough.

* * *

_From the journal of Althaea Serra_

_17 Ferventis, 9:34 Dragon_

_It's been nearly a week since I presented myself to the Divine and was told to wait for a summons. I've been wanting to go home since just after that, but I wouldn't dare to go against her wishes._

_The waiting is killing me, and it appears Fenris is uneasy as well. He told me Sebastian said he should only be gone three weeks, and we'll definitely be breaking that unless we leave tomorrow or the day after. I told him he was welcome to book a ship home, but he flatly refused, saying that he would see his task through. I'm grateful for that. This place is beautiful, but it's beginning to feel like a prison…his presence makes it a little easier to bear. _

_I've cracked open the leather-bound book the Dalish man gave me the night of the masquerade, but it's not in any language I can read. I thought maybe it might be a cipher of some sort, but no techniques I've ever learned for decoding such things have worked. Fenris has been watching me struggle with it; I don't think he's ever seen me so frustrated by a book. He says one of his friend Hawke's companions is Dalish, but is loath to introduce me to her, saying she holds congress with demons and wields blood magic as if it were a child's plaything. I think he might be exaggerating just a bit._

_The bow I was given, on the other hand, is one of the finest pieces of work I've ever seen. I think it might be made of ironbark, as it's unusually light for its size, and incredibly responsive, even more so than the one I saw in the market on arrival, the one that would've cost me a year's salary. It seems as if the bow was made custom to me, though at first I thought the draw might be a bit too heavy. The giver and I were about the same stature and build, so it might just be an incredible coincidence._

_He told me to give his book to the first Dalish I saw, but he never said anything about actually seeking one out. Fenris won't be happy about it, but promises are promises and that girl may be the only one I have access to._

_I wonder if it has his name in it._

* * *

They were finally summoned to the Divine's quarters a week after the masquerade.

"Amalthaea Demitridis," she said when they arrived, slowly and with an inscrutable smile on her face. It took Althaea everything she had to maintain her composure, and instead of blanching, she curtsied low, then brought her lips to the Divine's ring as tradition dictated.

"Most Holy," she uttered. "I am at your service."

The Divine got up, then gestured to a woman with fiery red hair in Chantry robes; the woman handed her a small packet of documents, which she thumbed through quickly.

"Youngest child of the magister Aloysius Demitridis, enslaved to the magister Septimus following…an attempted patricide at age seventeen." She raised her eyebrows at that detail. "His records show that you were reasonably clever and displayed a talent for scribing, and were put to work as the house archivist, among…other duties."

_You can say it, Most Holy_, Althaea thought. _If you want to bare me naked, spare me the euphemisms._

Instead, she only stood in front of the pacing Divine, face schooled into a blithe smile. She felt rather than saw Fenris's gaze burn into her. This was the thing she hadn't told him, hadn't told anyone. Now she wished she had.

"His records also state that you were defiant to a fault and it took longer than you were worth to break you. Then, one day…one day, you were reported missing without a trace, and presumed dead. His records end there, but imagine my surprise when I receive word that a reasonably clever Kirkwall archivist calling herself Althaea Serra shows up on my doorstep. She does with a crateful of _translated _Tevene scrolls, and when she is introduced to me, she matches your description perfectly. Do you keep up with your Tevinter politics, Amalthaea?"

"No, Most Holy." _Please don't use that name please don't use that name please don't _

The Divine raised an eyebrow. "If it helps you to speak frankly, young one, please do. I cannot abide one word answers."

"No, Most Holy - Amalthaea Demitridis is dead, and I have quite enough work to do without keeping track of Tevinter politicking." Althaea was able to maintain her composure now, though her heart still raced.

"Aloysius Demitridis was selected for the High Senate this year…a rising star indeed."

_Now_ Althaea allowed herself to blanch.

"I have no indication that he knows you are still alive - you have covered your tracks quite well, and seem to have integrated into the Kirkwall chantry. I'd hate for that to change."

Althaea took note of the veiled threat. "I owe the Chantry my life, Most Holy. Brother Sebastian saw value in me when no one else in the Gallows did."

"Yes, I hear you made quite the turnaround after he took you in. Then I think, perhaps, you might avail me of your opinion of current…tensions between the Chantry and the Circle of Magi."

"Most Holy?" Althaea was confused now. Since when was she anything but an errand girl, a librarian? What good could her opinion be?

"I'm convinced you have a…unique outlook, based on your personal history. Given that, and a few references of your current disposition, I gather you would offer me an assessment free of any of the sycophantic bullshit I have been encountering since taking my place as Divine. You can close your mouth, Amalthaea. Surprise doesn't suit you."

"My apologies, Most Holy. Yes, I would be happy to offer my opinion, as insignificant as I feel it is." This Divine was clearly not a woman to be messed with.

"Then speak, child, as frankly as you can."

Althaea finally felt safe enough to turn to Fenris. His face was blank, but she got the overwhelming feeling she'd have a _lot_ of explaining to do when this audience was over. He nodded in the direction of the Divine, an incalculably small movement, but noticeable nonetheless. _I'm getting better at reading him, I think._

"Most Holy, use of blood magic is reaching an alarming rate in Kirkwall, but I don't believe the mages are entirely to blame." She took a deep breath, forcing herself onward. Her line of reasoning might well earn her an execution, if it hadn't been asked for. "From what I hear, the mages of the Circle in Kirkwall are treated no better than slaves…and in Tevinter, all magisters know that an educated slave becomes a rebellious one. I know Andraste said that magic must serve man, and not rule him, Most Holy, but the Templars abuse their power and there will be war if the Knight-Commander continues to tighten her noose around the Circle."

"In short?"

"In short, Most Holy, there must be balance, and the Chantry has broken it. The tension in Kirkwall is little more than a symptom of a bigger disease."

"An apt assessment. Thank you, Amalthaea."

"Is there anything else I can do to serve you?"

"Not at this time. Your request for a second translator is denied, for now. We will keep the scrolls here until further notice."

Althaea curtsied again, kissed the ring, and barely willed herself not to break into a run as she exited the audience room.

* * *

Fenris was only just able to wait until they returned to their suite before whirling on her, shocked face bordering on anger. He took a deep breath before speaking; she was distraught enough without his help.

"Was there a time you were planning on telling me any of what I just heard?" he asked her, slipping into Arcanum, for it was easier for him to voice his thoughts in his native tongue. And sweet Maker, there were plenty of them.

"It wasn't relevant," Althaea responded, trying to wave him off like what had transpired in the Divine's chambers was really nothing at all. She sat on the couch, burying her face in her hands.

"Like hell it wasn't relevant, Althaea!" He took a place on an ottoman right across from her, shaking his head, brows knitted together in concern. Or frustration. He wasn't sure exactly what he was feeling - it was a little like a fist to the solar plexus, suddenly realizing that they had far more in common than he had originally thought.

"It was a very dark time in my life, Fenris. I haven't spoken to anyone about it." Her voice was flat, and there were no tears, but there was a haunted quality to her eyes, something that was begging him not to press her any harder.

He couldn't help himself. He had to know. "How long?" His words were choked.

_What is this…why do I even care_ _so much?_

_Because she's been through the same as you and never became a wild animal for it. Because nothing in her screams "I was a slave" like everything about you does._

_Because even after all of that, kindness and compassion are the only things she shows. _

_How?!_

She had to think a little to reckon it up. "I remember…five winters. Please don't ask me any more, Fenris. I've made my peace with the Maker on it."

"If you've made your peace with Him, surely He understands if you speak about it." This was the second time he'd spoken of the Maker with her, that nebulous Being he never quite believed in. She sat in silence, refusing to meet his eyes.

_I have to know. I have to know. _He reached for her, the first time he could recall doing such a thing. "Please, Althaea. I…I need to know."

She looked down at his proffered hand with something he couldn't quite recognize. Disbelief? He could see her reticence melting away before him as she took it.

Her voice, when it came, was bitter, with just the hint of a snarl. He saw himself mirrored in her eyes, her face; it was unbecoming of her. _As it is unbecoming of you._

_Shut up,_ he told himself. He did.

"He made me dance for him," she said. "When his wife was away, I warmed his bed, and when she wasn't, he lent my comforts to his guests. Only occasionally I had time to maintain the house archives." She scooted over a bit and turned her back to him, then bared one of the shoulders of her dress and brushed her hair out of the way. Fenris averted his eyes uncomfortably.

"No, Fenris. _Look._" At her insistence, he obliged, then reached out and touched her shoulder, running his finger along the raised skin of a brand, a slaver's mark.

"How did you escape?"

"He was in Minrathous and didn't take me. I…saw an opening and I took it. I went southeast, kept to the hills, shot and ate rabbits for food, traded their skins…and sometimes my own, if I was desperate enough."

_Oh, Maker. _He couldn't imagine how hard that last admission would have been for her. "He hasn't come after you?"

"He is far too proud to admit that a little slave girl escaped his grasp. Then again, I'm not worth much of a bounty. As the Divine said, it took longer than I was worth to break me."

"You don't have anything, other than this," he said, fingers still ghosting over the brand. He wondered what she'd think if she ever saw his back, the way it was crossed with scars from the cat o' nine Denarius was so fond of.

"Some magic is far more effective than anything physical," she said. "If I were permanently damaged I wouldn't have been very easy to sell."

Fenris wanted to retch. Denarius had used magical punishment only for the most grievous of his offenses.

"Why have you never told anyone about this?" His voice was still choked and husky. He felt like a giant hand had squeezed him until he could no longer breathe. "How can you even stand it?"

"The Maker saw fit to deliver me from my fate, and since then I've learned that I shouldn't squander such a precious gift with bitterness, or hatred."

_Like you have, _said his traitorous self again.

_Shut up._ He did.

"I'm still afraid," she said, shifting her weight and offering him a space on the sofa. He accepted it. It was the least he could do for someone who trusted him with something she'd never said to anyone else. She leaned up against him like she had a week ago, that terrible night, when she had drank and wept in his arms. He had accepted that because he was drunk, too, and woken up in a very awkward position. Strange that this time he was stone sober, and it felt…all right. Maybe not right, but definitely not…wrong.

"I am, too," he said, the confession wrung from him like blood from a deep wound. "I fear every day that one morning I will wake and he'll be looming over me. He will take me back to Minrathous, clear my head of everything I've had…again, and I will be a compliant slave once more."

She didn't seem to know what to say to that, and continued to lean up against him until she finally took one of his arms around her. She was full of these small affections. He found them grating at first, then slowly resigned himself to the fact that she had a propensity for touching and he was just going to have to get used to it.

Now, though, he found he didn't mind them very much at all. How she could dole them out so freely, after having them taken from her by force, was beyond him. How she could be anything but a shell of her former self was also beyond him.

He decided that it must be that she could remember what life had been like before her enslavement. She had a sense of normalcy she could aspire to, perhaps.

That was just one more thing magic had stolen from him.

As she curled up on the sofa next to him, catnapping, he resolved to find Varania. His sister held the key to his past; perhaps she was the key to his future, as well.


	4. The Good Ship Lifestyle

_**A/N:** Oh, this was so much fun to write even though parts of it were a pretty tough slog. Hopefully you will like reading it as much as I liked writing it!_

_Here I suppose I'll insert a **warning**: This chapter features **smut **in the form of masturbation, though it is fairly short lived. I did say it would be eventual :)_

_I will also insert the legal junk as well, since it's been a few chapters: The concept and character of Althaea Serra belong to me. Everything else belongs to BioWare. It's their sandbox, I just play in it._

_Here we go!_

_P.S. Cookies if you get the nod in the name of our friends' conveyance._

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR: THE GOOD SHIP _LIFESTYLE_

Fenris woke in the night with the remnants of a dream still in his head.

It was the eve of their departure from Val Royeaux. Their passage was arranged and paid for, their things were packed, and they had taken an early night's rest in preparation for the week to come. He was glad to be leaving the place and for all intents and purposes, it seemed as if Althaea was in agreement.

The trip had clearly not agreed with her. She had been unusually pensive since the night of the masquerade, and if Fenris knew any better, he would say she even bordered on brooding. Then again, she hadn't counted on a threat of being outed by the Divine when she had presented herself and her scrolls on her trip. He was sure she hadn't counted on her secret being thrown to him and that too seemed to have bothered her. For a moment, he wished he hadn't pushed her so hard after the revelation had come. He just couldn't help it.

He sat up in bed, flushed and stiff with need. The dream had started as his nighttime fantasies usually did, a shapely female figure with a hazy face. As it had progressed, however, he became aware of the shape of her face taking form and congealing into something completely new to him, the body surrounding him changing as well, becoming thinner, less voluptuous. Her scent had made its way toward him, that almondy, flowery fragrance she had bought in the grand courtyard when they had first arrived, but underneath it there was something else, the smell of her body, her hair. _Althaea. _She had crawled into his bed, eyes full of lustful intent, and had kissed his neck, his shoulder, the long line of his ear. Then she had kissed down his chest in a taut little line, making her way toward his groin in a march that had made him shiver and hold his breath.

He could still feel the ghostly weight of the dream Althaea on him, could still see the desire in her eyes, the freckles on her cheekbones. Of all the times he had dreamed in his need, there had never been a face, so why tonight, and why her? She was comely enough, but while he had briefly glimpsed her bare form more than once, he had never found her lack of endowments particularly attractive; his tastes leaned toward more substance than her boyish physique had to offer.

He let his hand drift up toward his jawline, gently dragging a finger down toward his chin. _Here._ It was here she had brought one of her own fingers up against his face, a sweet, warm smile lighting up her features as she had seen him dressed in that foppish outfit he had been forced into for the masquerade. And then she had apologized to him in advance of the humiliating events thereafter: the dance itself, the drunken ramble that had ended in tragedy in the alienage. It was almost as if she truly thought of him as someone worth her time. Not a bodyguard, not a manservant, and most definitely not a slave. She had treated him as a person, an actual friend. In comparison, Hawke's companions were agreeable enough, but underneath the pleasantries he was sure they treated him with an underlying sense of caution. They treated him like the wolf he was, as if he would snarl or snap at them at any given moment, with minimal provocation. He supposed he did that, though, so it was caution well-earned. He had with Althaea, at first, but she had blithely ignored it, had kept touching him, had kept showing him the small affections that she seemed to give everyone. It was disconcerting.

The dream Althaea wafted back up into his head, wearing her sweet, warm smile and biting her lips a little. His breath hitched and he clawed at his head, willing her face to disappear. The gesture was useless; his erection returned with a vengeance and he screwed up his eyelids in a vain attempt to calm himself, or at least to will her face away from his usual dream. He knew he had been spending every day with her for the past three weeks, but Maker, this was _ridiculous._

He fought his traitorous member for a little while before giving up. It had been a few days since he had last taken his pleasure, and if he was to spend the next week sharing the same room with the damnable woman, he wouldn't be getting another chance for a while yet. He let one of his hands drift down, stroking his length, pumping himself slowly and letting her face fill his mind's eye, imagined how her full lips might look wrapped around him as she licked and sucked him to completion, how she might look up to see his face as she did it. He recalled an impish grin she had worn one night when she had teased him about something or other, his hair, maybe, and imagined she might wear it as she pulled her mouth away; imagined how she might replace it with another part of her, slick and hot and totally _his_.

He murmured her name in the darkness as he picked up speed, the image in his head becoming too much to bear. She might look at him _just so_, with the same look in her eye she'd shown as she'd launched arrows at a target fifty, seventy yards away; yes, now that he thought about it, the intensity in her eyes in those moments had turned him on, more than a little. He had just been too oblivious to notice. He thought of the dress she had worn to the masquerade, how in her anger and grief she had tried to rip it off, how she'd eventually had been forced to ask for his help getting out of it. He had undone all the buttons of the bodice to reveal her creamy, freckled skin, and he'd wanted to reach out and touch it. He did so now, in the privacy of his room, imagining how her breasts might feel pressed against his palms, how the softness of her bottom might feel as he dug his fingers into it, arching his hips up to meet hers.

He wondered if she would cry out his name as she came, or if she might laugh or smile at her release. She might show him the face she had the night of the masquerade, that endearingly relieved grin she had made when he had accepted her preemptive apology...no. No, she would say his name, would say it half a dozen times as she brought herself to the edge. Her sweet alto voice, husky with her need for him, would whisper it in his ear as she clenched herself around him and brought him to his full.

The thought of her voice was what brought him over, his seed spilling into his fists as he threw his head back, hitting the headboard. He was no stranger to pleasuring himself, but this sensation was new; it was the hardest he'd come in his memory, in any stolen moment in any of the towns he'd stayed in for a day, a week, a month. He looked down at his hand, glistening with the evidence of his orgasm, and sighed, willing his heart to stop beating so wildly; he breathed slowly as he regained control, then found something with which to clean up, guilt fluttering at the edges of his mind. He hoped she hadn't heard him and briefly thought about checking in on her just to make sure she was still asleep, but his fatigue dragged him down into the nest of blankets he had made of the bed, and he never quite made it out.

* * *

Althaea was in the cavernous kitchen of their estate in Solas, chopping an onion.

Cora was talking to her, indistinctly. The words seemed to form as she listened a little harder, and she reached for Althaea's hands, guiding the strokes she was making with the knife.

"Rock the knife, let the weight of it do the work for you. There you go." She smiled at Althaea, warm golden eyes lit up by the curve of her mouth.

This was a childhood memory, but in her dream she was her adult height. She continued chopping the onion, but it was making her eyes water something fierce. She reached up to wipe her face, but when she brought her hand back down, it was covered in blood. She panicked and looked at her face in a water bucket, to discover it smeared along her face where her hand had been, and still streaming out of her eyes, running in rivulets down her cheeks.

She dashed out of the kitchen, running from her room. The hallways of the estate formed around her, and she knew she was in the Fade, but her heart lurched against her chest and she panted with the effort. Her gown, her gown was so heavy, the velvet dragged her down, until finally it tangled itself around her legs and tripped her. She landed, and the force of it knocked the air out of her with a _whuff_.

When she opened her eyes, she was face to face with Marius, whose own golden eyes, Cora's color and shape, were open and fixed in permanent surprise, blood still oozing from the slit in his neck where her father had cut him open. She was choking on it...

She woke with a start, gasping for breath and reaching for her eyes. _No blood._ She gathered the blankets up around her, and then stepped out of her bed. Windows. She needed them right now, and her room didn't have any. She stumbled toward one, throwing it open and letting the warm night breeze come in, breathing deeply. Dawn was close. _No sense in going back to sleep, then._

She knew it was early, but rang for a servant anyway. Maybe some tea would help her feel better. She poured herself some water and sat at the table, drinking slowly and thumbing through the book she had brought with her, a boring treatise on Old Tevene and its appendices; most of which had to do with modern contentions on translation. She had finished skimming the tome about three or four days ago, and had been going back and taking notes on it ever since. Fenris had gotten into the habit of watching her as she did so, but since he had never outright taken her up on her offer to teach him how to read, she hadn't pushed him to decide anything. Instead, she would read her notes aloud as she wrote them, and took care to do so slowly enough that he could make things out before she moved on to the next sentence.

The sun crawled in through the open window and her tea arrived, piping hot. She decided to wait a little longer for breakfast, though - her dream had done a very good job of removing her appetite and she wasn't sure when she was going to get it back. The door to Fenris's room cracked open and he came into the room, looking well-rested but a little surprised to see her awake.

"You look like you've just been keelhauled," he said, rather dryly. "What are you doing up so early?"

She sipped at her tea, one hand against her forehead. She hadn't checked a mirror, but after spending three weeks with the man she knew Fenris wasn't the type to lie. In fact, "brutally honest" would probably be the best descriptor for him, and more than once she had fought the urge to smack him for a comment he had made. Like now.

She settled for making him feel like an ass. "I had an awful dream, couldn't force myself to go back to sleep." Success - he frowned and took a seat next to her at the table.

"My apologies," he said. Even she didn't speak so formally in Common, but his courtliness was something she found she enjoyed about his acquaintance. It was nice to have someone who understood some of her idiosyncracies, accepted them as if they were normal...because they were, even after years of living in the Free Marches. Resent his time as a slave he might, but Fenris was still as Tevinter as Althaea and she found their similar habits fairly comforting. She poured herself another cup of tea, then silently did the same for him. He looked at it with a bit of surprise, then sipped at it delicately, making a displeased face as she added some sugar and cream into her cup.

"Not a fan of embellishments, I see," she said.

"No sense in adding to something that's perfectly fine as it is," he said, rather simply.

"Fair enough," she said, fiddling with the spoon and sipping at it, continuing to thumb absentmindedly through the book.

"Are you done with it?" he asked her.

"The book? Yes, I've had about as much of it as I can stomach, though it's not likely to be of any use to me now that those scrolls are out of my hands." She glanced out of the window, watching the sun come up for a little while, wondering what Fenris thought of her recent introspectiveness.

"What the Divine did...that can't have been easy," he said, calling her back into the world. "Do you think she'll make good on her threat?"

"I don't know," she said with a sigh and draining the second cup of tea. "I'm not going to give her a chance to. I'm not sure I could run from both my father _and_ the Chantry at the same time."

"Sound judgement," said Fenris, getting up and reaching for his armor.

She did the same, to head to her room and don her traveling clothes. "I'm sure I'll feel better once we put a few leagues between us and this wretched place."

* * *

As it turned out, she was right. When the smell of the city had given way to cool salt air, some of her old good humor had returned, and she had spent a long while smiling and listening to the gulls crying overhead. Fenris was glad for it.

They were on the Rivaini merchant cruiser _Lifestyle_, which was quite a bit smaller and altogether rougher than the Orlesian galleon had been; their accommodations this time were two hammocks strung up in the cargo hold amongst crates and barrels strapped along the bulkheads. In testament to how badly she had wanted out of the city, she hadn't complained about their sleeping arrangement, despite its spartan nature.

They did their best not to get underfoot during the day, soaking up the warm summer sun on the bow of the ship. When night came, the crew were able to spend time making merry, lighting torches, taking a simple supper, and passing around a brandy bottle until at least one of them started to play a half-drunken fiddle. They watched the waxing moon lighting up the black seawater and listened to the music, which had given way to random shanties, sung roughly and loudly.

Althaea was leaning forward on the bow, when Fenris spoke up.

"I never explicitly said this, but your secret...it's safe with me." Perhaps she would forgive him pushing her to reveal the details if he said it.

"Thank you," she replied. She was easily a head shorter than he was, and even shorter still since she was leaning down on her elbows. He decided to bring himself down a little, the better to talk to her.

"Do you trust me?" he asked. He was sure she'd think it an odd question, but he had to know. Some of the looks he'd seen on the faces of the sailors weren't quite right...they weren't as coherent a group as Isabela claimed all crews were, and there were lots of mutterings that seemed to stop just as he had walked by.

True to his expectation, Althaea wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion. "Implicitly," she said. "Why?"

"Take this," he said, nudging the hilt of a dagger at her. "I just...I don't know. I feel like you should have it, just in case."

"Do you think...?" He hushed her. Despite the singing and dancing happening on the main deck, there might still be ears turned in their direction.

"I don't know, but that longbow of yours will be completely useless if you wind up needing to defend yourself."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought that's what you were here for."

"I am, but..." He began, voice wavering just a little, but then taking an exasperated tone. "Just take the dagger, and _don't take it off._" He helped her strap it to her belt in a position where it would be easy to draw, and she looked down at it almost reverently, then back up at him.

"I'll treasure it," she said.

"It's just a dagger," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, but it came from a friend, and that's all that matters." She reached up and laid a chaste peck on his cheek.

That stopped Fenris short. He had known the girl for three weeks now, had played cards with her, taken meals with her, had gotten her out of a bad situation or two. He'd lent her money and gotten it back, had even gotten into a couple of debates with her about mage rights and the nature of the Chantry and the Maker. She'd even invaded his dreams, though he would_ never_ breathe a word of that to her.

He was the only one who knew of her time as a slave.

Until her last utterance, despite all of that, he figured he was still just a hired guard and she was really still just his client.

"_Are_ we friends?" he asked her, confused.

"I thought we might be, but I suppose I should be asking you."

"You should understand how little experience I have with the concept," said Fenris, taking his place back against the railing. "Until Kirkwall, I'd met few people who sought anything other than personal gain."

"I'm guessing Hawke and company were among the few." She was leaning with her back toward the railing, holding her new gift in her hands and running her fingers along the plain wooden handle. Fenris had found it for a good price in the Orlesian market, and it was nothing special in his eyes, but clearly it had been an appreciated gesture.

"He was...is. He's one of a few reasons I've stayed in Kirkwall. Hawke is an extraordinary man, and worthy of following. Until we crossed paths, I...I never thought I needed anyone."

"You still need everyone," said Althaea, sheathing the dagger and gesturing toward the crew of the _Lifestyle_, dancing and drinking by torchlight. "'A man defines his character by the company he keeps.'"

"Who said that to you?"

"My..." She sighed. "My father." She was looking away uncomfortably. "Is it strange that, even after everything he put me through, I still live by some of his maxims?"

He almost said "a little", but instead chose "Yes."

"He was a strict man, but I loved him. The cruelty, the cold...those didn't come until he had his chance at the Senate. It changed him." She crossed her arms underneath her breasts, hugging herself as she leaned against the railing. "I remember hoping he would change back, but it never happened."

"If I were you, I would have hated him."

"I did, for a very long time. It burned so bright I could have lit fires with it, but with the Maker's help I was able to keep it from consuming me." She looked at the sky with a half-smile. "Now, I can channel my energy into things that matter. Maybe carve a little way into the world, make it so that even one other person doesn't have to feel what I felt. I know it's silly."

Fenris didn't find that silly in the least. In fact, it was what he wished for himself - to be able to take all his pain and rage and turn it into something productive, to let go. He wished Denarius would come and try to reclaim him so he could have done with it and be free to make his life. He figured that would make moving on possible.

"I don't think so," he said. "It's quite admirable."

"So..." she began uncomfortably. "Are we friends?"

"If we aren't, I imagine we're getting there." He smiled at her, possibly the first real smile he'd ever given her.

She reciprocated, dimples forming in her cheeks as she did, and genially poked him in the upper arm. He glared at her, a little halfheartedly, though. "You know, I think Sebastian might have had more than your skill in mind when he hired you."

Fenris cocked an eyebrow, turning around to match Althaea's lean against the railing of the ship. "Such as..."

"Before this trip, I was _so_ homesick. The Marches are such a strange place. I've been in Kirkwall for years, but...it's not the same. Everything makes so little sense. Then I meet you, and you're a walking, talking piece of the Imperium; it's been comforting, to say the least."

"I'm glad I could be of service," he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. Was that all he was to her, then? A trinket, a little piece of home?

She stood up, covering her mouth in embarrassment again. "Oh, I've upset you. That wasn't my intent at all. I'm so sorry..." He relaxed. She hadn't meant offense at all, then.

"It's all right." He thumbed some of his hair out from in front of his eyes. _It's getting a little long,_ he thought. _Maybe I'll try and cut it tomorrow._ "I've been considering your offer -"

"Hey, elf!" called one of the sailors. "Get yourself and your pet human over here - it's dessert!" He looked at her, waiting to see if their role reversal among the Rivaini had nettled her.

No - she only snickered, blushing a little.

He offered her an elbow. She graciously took it and he led her to the party and the accompanying dessert.

* * *

She was in her estate again, bow in hand and aiming toward a target some ten yards away. She remembered this bow, the feel of it, her first. It was simple, but made of the best materials money could buy. Her instructor righted her stance, moving various parts of her body until she met his expectations. Holding the draw was draining her strength.

_Again with the childhood memories_. She knew she was in the Fade, knew that none of this was real, and yet was powerless to stop it, to do anything but watch herself.

She let loose the arrow, and it missed its mark. "_Fasta vass_," she swore.

"Watch your language or I'll box your ears," hissed her instructor.

She let loose another arrow, and another, none of which were close. She knew that this memory had come early in her training. She had been perhaps seven, or eight? But, as in her other dream, she was her adult size.

She dimly heard arguing coming from the corner, the sound of her mother's voice. "Aloysius, archery?...not ladylike..." were all she could pick up. Then her father: "Nonsense...noble sport...my wishes." She remembered this argument, for it had occurred often, and her mother and father had warred among themselves over the issue. Aloysius had wanted all his children schooled in traditional martial arts, the better to defend themselves, and Althaea had been the only one of their girl children to have taken to it.

Then again, she was also the only girl child who hadn't had magic to rely on. The rest of her sisters' powers had manifested much earlier than age seven, and they never expected Althaea to be a late bloomer.

She was angry at her mother then for wanting to take this away, and replace it with full-time dancing lessons, embroidery, spinning and weaving, like Alexia would have been happy to do if she hadn't had magic. She drew the bowstring back and let it loose with a frown.

The arrow hit its mark, but not the one she had counted on. Her breath was stolen away from her as she dropped the bow and ran.

_No._

She had hit Marius square in the heart. Her first thought was _how did he get there? _Then, as the panic set in: _No, this can't be happening, it didn't happen this way, no, Marius, no, no, no!_

No matter how hard she ran, nothing happened. It was as if the grass underneath her had turned into a treadmill.

_No, no...no..._ "...No! No...no..."

Rough hands shook her awake. Chest heaving, she reached for her assailant's collar, and tried to yank him down, but spilled out of her hammock instead. His markings flared as he tried to disconnect, but he fell, too.

Fenris. It was just Fenris. She sat up, rubbing her aching shoulder. He got up with a slow sort of dignity, brushing the dirt of the ship's deck off his leather tunic.

"You were dreaming," he said with distaste. "Again." She climbed back into her hammock, buried her face in her hand. Four nights, four dreams, and they were all ending the same way, with Marius dying. _A thousand and one ways to kill your dead lover_, she thought with a snort.

"This needs to stop before you get us in trouble," said Fenris, a little more mildly. He got into his hammock as well, the glow of his markings dimming as he did.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. She turned over in her hammock.

Four nights, four dreams. She said a silent prayer that she'd be spared from any more. They had passed Val Chevin and had docked briefly in Cumberland yesterday, and were just about halfway home by her meager calculations.

_Dear Maker_, she prayed, _I know we are to travel to the Fade every night in remembrance of you, but please spare me from this...just one night_. They had started after the threat of the Divine had settled in, and each one was the same, each one was a childhood memory corrupted by the sight of Marius, dead; twice at her father's hand and twice at her own. _What are you trying to tell me?_

And now she had gone and attacked Fenris, the only person that might have understood what she was going through. She'd caught him thrashing about in his sleep a few times, herself, but had been reluctant to wake him up for fear he'd do exactly what she had just done.

What had gotten into her?

She tried to sleep for a long while, but it wouldn't come, and for good reason, she was sure. The darkness of the cabin had dulled her sight, allowing her to process more fully from her other senses, and she listened to the various sounds around her: the gentle creaking of the ship, the soft breath of her sleeping companion, punctuated by an occasional snore. She repressed a giggle at that, and lay in her hammock, feeling the ship pitch and roll around her. The hammock swayed with the ship, though, and it was an odd feeling, being so still with everything moving around her.

She became aware of sounds in the distance. Shouts. The clang of swords. She crashed out of her hammock again, the blanket tangling up in her feet and tripping her.

"_Venhedis_, woman, can you not sleep through an entire night without waking me?"

"_Quiet_, Fenris -"

"I will _not_, I haven't gotten a proper wink of sleep since Val Royeaux, and -" he became aware of her tense stance, shut his mouth, and listened. Then he hastily got out of his hammock, reaching for his sword and armor, beckoning her to do the same. She was way ahead of him, though, and had already donned her leather vest and bracers.

She strung her longbow, then looked at him for direction. He held his hand out in a gesture that quite clearly said _stay here_, and he went to the door, peeking out of it in both directions. He reached up two fingers in a _come here_ and mouthed _follow me_, and she obeyed.

They walked quietly in the opposite direction of the fighting, and Fenris climbed up the stairs to have a look at what was happening on the deck.

"Well?" she said softly as he closed the door.

"It looks like a mutiny," said Fenris. "They're all fighting each other."

"What do we do?"

"Wait until it blows over and hope the new management hasn't decided we're more trouble than we're worth."

The door burst open, and an elven woman stood at the threshold, raising an evil looking dirk in their direction. "Perhaps we already have," she said.

Althaea could only think of one thing to do. She fumbled in one of her belt pouches in the dark, hoping the woman couldn't see her from the light above.

"_Close your eyes, Fenris_," she said in Arcanum, and hoped he had time to register the directive; she hauled the flask at the woman, snapping her eyes shut in time for the flash not to blind her.

He looked at her in a bit of appreciative surprise, then pushed his way toward the temporarily blinded woman. Althaea stole the dirk on the way out. _Just in case._

"Now what?" she asked him. The flashbang had disoriented their would-be assailant, but had gotten the attention of two sailors, who were making their way through the smoke to see what was the matter.

"You need to hide. I'll take care of the rest." She was strangely comforted by that, and didn't even raise token resistance to the order. She stealthily crawled along the edge of the battle, looking for a reasonable place to hide, then looked up with a smile as she saw the crow's nest. _Perfect._ She was small enough to edge along to the mast, and if she hunkered down just a little once she got there, no one would be the wiser. She would be able to hide there until everything had died down.

As she dashed from one piece of cover to the next, she caught Fenris in motion, incapacitating but not killing, markings blazing. She could see why Denarius coveted him so; his prowess was unmatched by any of the men launching themselves against him. She climbed up the mast, thankfully unnoticed in any of the commotion below.

High up in the nest, she let herself breathe again. She had always felt safer in the heights. Scrambling up trees had never been issue for her, and she was even known to sit in the windowsill of her fourth-floor apartment in Lowtown, watching the city go by. Her brother Phoebus had affectionately nicknamed her "Squirrel" because of it, and she had never shaken the moniker off quite the way she had others.

She waited several minutes before deciding to raise her head over the basket. The battle seemed to be mostly over, but Fenris was running out of steam, and the second he slowed down, lyrium glow dying, the woman who had accosted them at the head of the stairs disarmed him, then grabbed him into a choke hold.

_Be brave,_ she thought to herself. Her other half was begging her not to be stupid, but she nocked an arrow. She took a moment to calculate for the motion of the ship, so much more amplified from the height of the crow's nest, and let it loose.

The arrow sped just past the woman's ear, just as she had planned, and stuck to the deck, quivering. She released Fenris in her confusion, who took a gasping breath. The woman found Althaea and directed two of her men in her direction. They began to climb up toward her. She shot one in the shoulder, causing him to fall, then aimed toward the next. He backed off.

Althaea hoped the woman couldn't see the tremble in her hands as she nocked another arrow and aimed it back in her direction. "I can split an apple off a man's head at seventy yards," she said, attempting to infuse as much bravado into her voice as she could and failing miserably. "Don't make me prove it." Fenris stood on the deck next to her, scanning for a way out of their mess.

"What are your demands, little girl? You can't stay up there forever."

"We didn't want any trouble in the first place," she cried down from the nest, unable to hide her exasperation. "Just let us off at the next port and we won't make any more for you."

"I can let you off now, if you like," the woman said with a smirk, then gestured out at the open water. Althaea had a look around from her vantage point, and spotted land. She thanked the Maker that they had been sailing along the coast this entire time.

"Give us the dinghy, and we'll leave." The tiny raft had a sail and would get them there easily enough. They'd just make it to the closest Chantry and stay there until they could hitch a caravan home.

"You have a deal," the woman said. "Just _get off_ my ship." Fenris attempted to light his markings, but they spluttered out. He was out of energy and wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. He nodded at her, and she crawled out of the crow's nest, dirk in hand, just in case.


	5. Marooned

**A/N: **Special thanks go to **GirlyGeek** as usual for being my sounding board, and to **Kukapetal **for braving an unfamiliar fandom for the sake of a good R/R. You rock, ladies!

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE - MAROONED

Althaea sighed as they watched the _Lifestyle _vanish into the distance. She sat in the sand, absentmindedly beating one of their dinghy's oars against the beach, while Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

She had managed to negotiate their way off the ship, at least, but they had been relieved of their coin "in exchange" for their rather pathetic conveyance and had been dumped unceremoniously onto shore. Althaea, while tired, had in his opinion been altogether too optimistic about the deal they had been given. Fenris had to remind her that they had little, if anything, to work with.

In response, she removed a boot and a sock, revealing six shiny gold sovereigns sewn into the lining. "They didn't take all our gold, they didn't take our weapons, and I think I see a little village over that way. Do you see it?"

He did. It looked painfully small in the distance, but they had plenty of daylight left and they could easily reach it before nightfall.

"If it's big enough to have a chantry, we can get some help and hopefully a ride home," she said, clearly trying to maintain the optimism she had started with. "I'm sure things will turn out just fine."

Fenris didn't share her opinion, but kept his doubts to himself. They abandoned the dinghy and started walking toward the village in the distance. This day had been far too exciting, and at the very least, he'd be happy for a place to lay his head for the night before attempting to make their way back to Kirkwall on foot.

They were able to reach the village of Thorpe-by-the-sea before sunset, and immediately identified the town's chantry. It was a wattle-and-daub building, not much bigger than those around it, but possessing a large yard and several, smaller buildings behind it. Fenris seemed happy to let Althaea do most of the talking, and she briefly explained her position in Kirkwall and their current situation. Everything seemed to be going all right until the Revered Mother asked her for her letter of writ. Althaea fumbled around in her various pouches, but was unable to find it.

"Without that, how am I supposed to tell you apart from any number of vagabonds passing through, looking for a free meal?" she asked in a dismissively.

Althaea knew she probably looked like death warmed over at this point. Her leathers were rather careworn, and her hair was stiff with the salt of the ocean air they had been around for days. "I don't suppose I look like I'm in the Chantry's employ, do I?" she asked, mostly to herself.

"Not one bit." The Revered Mother crossed her arms in irritation.

"Well, if you can't help us get home, certainly you can at least help us find some traveling supplies, maybe provide a place for us to stay for the night? We're happy to supply a small donation for your help, and we're badly in need of a place for rest, a meal, and perhaps a bath."

The word _donation_ was what seemed to ease the Revered Mother's opinion. Funny how a bit of gold could do that. "There's a small guesthouse out back you can stay in for the night. It's not an inn, but you can bathe yourselves and rest."

Althaea ignored her companion's glare of irritation as she handed the Revered Mother her hidden coin, then let one of the novices lead them to the "guesthouse" in back, a building that was little more than a hut. It looked comfortable enough, though, with some cots and a copper bathtub behind a privacy screen, and a tiny table.

"I'll bring you some of tonight's stew," she said, leaving them alone. Althaea set down her pack and immediately set about hauling water to the tub from the spout in the chantry yard, laughing a little as she watched Fenris collapse into a cot without even removing his armor. He covered his eyes with one arm.

The bath was rather cold, but Althaea settled into it with relish, feeling the salt of the ocean coming off her skin. She found a small pat of soap and scrubbed herself down, then relaxed into the water and tried not to fall asleep in it.

"This may be the understatement of the age, but this may the worst trip home I've ever had," she said as she got up and toweled herself off, and put her clothes back on. Fenris's only reply was an irritated grunt. She drained the bath and nudged his foot with one of her toes, causing him to remove his arm and glare at her.

"Want me to fill the bath up again? It might make you feel better."

"I'll be all right," he said.

So he wanted to be short with her? Fine. "Suit yourself," she said. Just then, the novice came to the door with their stew. It was hearty and hot, and a welcome respite from the food they'd been eating the last few days. The smell of it got Fenris up, and while he wolfed his down, she tried to savor it, as it might be a while before their next hot meal.

His mood seemed to improve with the stew. "We should figure out where to go from here," he said to her as he picked up the water bucket and started filling the bath up for himself. Althaea repressed the urge to laugh at his decision, so soon after blowing her suggestion off, but figured doing so wouldn't help anything. She excused herself and went into the chantry proper to procure their promised supplies: a couple of old bedrolls, a small but sturdy tent, hardtack, a map, and some skins with water and wine.

He was long done by the time she got back; night had fallen and she lit the candlesticks on the table, unfolding the map and having a look at it. She found herself wondering if Fenris's illiteracy extended even to basic map reading. She hoped not, but decided not to take any chances.

"Here's us," she said, putting a finger on the dot where Thorpe-by-the-sea was labeled, then put another finger on the city of Kirkwall, "and here's home."

Fenris considered the map. "It looks like we can take the highway up along the mountains, then head down through the pass and into Kirkwall from there. It might only be a few days' travel if we move quickly."

"What about the forest?" It looked like the more direct route to her.

"Absolutely not an option."

* * *

"What was it you said about the forest not being an option?" Althaea sniped as they clambered through the underbrush. It was slow going and they were covered in sweat, bug bites, and loose leaves.

"That was before we heard news of an entire cadre of Coterie thugs on the road," Fenris said, as though the answer should have been painfully obvious.

"I thought you said they wanted to recruit you."

"They do, and I don't want anything to do with them. I've got enough work to do with Hawke as it is."

"So they'd attempt to do so forcibly?"

"For someone as intelligent as you are, it sure took you a while to come to the proper conclusion," he said irritably. Althaea frowned at the insult. They were figuring out that with hunger came bickering and general negativity. Each had navigated the concept of traveling in open wildnerness on their own, but neither quite expected how differently hunger pains might have affected them while traveling in a group.

"We need to stop," Althaea finally said when they reached a small clearing by a pond. "It's been _three days_. No sleep...no food, and we're almost out of water. I can't keep doing this."

"The faster we move, the faster we get back to Kirkwall, and believe me when I say it can't come soon enough."

In response, Althaea put her pack down and refused to move. Fenris threw up his hands in defeat. When he spoke, his Common was broken, testament to his high state of annoyance. "_Venhedis!_ Fine, do whatever it is you wish!"

"Don't you curse at _me_, Fenris, I'm just - I'm just..." she sighed. "I'll be back later." She grabbed the bow and quiver, removed her boots, and stalked barefoot into the forest. Fenris huffed and paced around their stopping point before giving up and setting up camp.

* * *

There was still plenty of daylight left, but this part of the forest was thicker than the rest and the canopy reduced the blazing sunshine of the summer day to a weak, dappled pool of light. Althaea almost thanked the Maker out loud when she heard the grunts of a small pig browsing in the humus. Being careful to stay downwind, Althaea nocked an arrow and took aim.

It had been nearly seven years since she had been forced to obtain her food in such a manner, but in the time since they had run out of gold, and then food, everything she had learned had come back to her. _Stay downwind. Don't make a sound. Go unshod if you can._

The pig took a few steps through the brush. _Kaffar,_ she cursed to herself, and took a slow, circuitous route around the animal until she could see its heart again. Then she drew the string back and breathed out. _Andraste grant mine aim be true._

* * *

Fenris heard the panicked squeals of some creature from his place by the fire. They stopped abruptly and he waited.

* * *

"Dinner is served," said Althaea as she tossed the animal down in front of the fire. She had already dressed the carcass, as evidenced by the blood on her hands and leather bracers. She sat down on the ground, bringing her knees up to her chest and breathing out a slow sigh while an impressed Fenris put the pig on an improvised spit to cook. The sunshine of the afternoon had dimmed with the arrival of very angry looking storm clouds, and he hoped the pig would cook through before the sky dumped out on them.

They sat around the fire as the sun set, drinking from the last of the wineskin and slicing chunks off the spit as the rest of the animal cooked. Althaea had shed the upper portions of her leathers, leaving only her soft undershirt and trousers, and hadn't put her boots back on after she had taken them off. The food and wine had done much to improve their situation and for the first time since diverting to the forest, Fenris allowed himself to laugh.

Althaea brought out the deck of cards she had bought and they played a few hands of Diamondback, passing the wineskin amongst themselves and draining it; the wine was sour but welcome and Fenris was glad he'd insisted on saving it.

"Extenuating circumstances aside, did you enjoy Val Royeaux?" Althaea asked.

"I had nearly forgotten how obsessed Orlesians are with excess, but the city itself is rather beautiful," he said. "The University was especially so."

"The library there reminded me a lot of the one at the University of Minrathous," Althaea said. "I went there once to visit my brother Phoebus. There were books stacked as high as the eye could see, and you had to get up on ladders a _hundred_ steps tall to reach the top shelves." She spread her arms wide as she said the last part.

"It sounds almost like you miss it," he said. How she could was beyond him. For him, there was nothing but pain in that city, a bad memory on every corner.

"Don't you?" The question was genuine. How little she knew.

"I think you forget that the years I spent there were a torment," he said. "I was glad to get away."

"Surely there's_ something_ you miss about Tevinter?"

He racked his brain for it and didn't really find much except for a sweet one of Denarius's cooks had made for the children in his home.

"There was one thing... little oat and nut pies. The other slaves would drizzle them with honey and cinnamon, but I liked them just as they were."

"Cora used to make something similar! I remember them, they were delicious. I loved her cooking, but more than anything else, I loved the dancing..."

Fenris listened with half an ear and half a smile as she talked about the things she loved: summers spent in Marnus Pell by the sea, or else Hasmal on the Minanter River; dancing, feasting, long hours spent in their estate's gardens; the various hijinks she had gotten up to with Marius when he wasn't working in the kitchen with his mother; and how Cora had taught Althaea everything she had known about cooking. She sighed. "Sometimes I forget that I can never go home."

"Would you want to?" He couldn't see why she would.

"I think even if I could, the way to any of the things I loved is lost. I keep wishing I could get the stones together to try and track Cora down, perhaps buy her and free her, but I worry that might garner me some unwanted attention." She considered him for a moment. "If you truly can't remember anything before the markings, perhaps you got the better end of the deal. You can't mourn what you don't know you've lost."

Fenris got up, incensed. "How very presumptuous of you. At least _you_ have the _choice_ to forget - mine was ripped away from me the moment I got my markings!" He stalked off to the other end of the fire, ending the conversation, and the sky finally opened up above them, soft sprinkles of rain.

Althaea cleaned up the cards and made her way toward him. "I'm going into the tent. There's room enough for both of us." She reached out for his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, refusing to meet her eyes.

"I'll sleep out here, _thanks_," he spat, then gathered his traveling cloak around him like a blanket.

She frowned, throwing up a hand. "Suit yourself, then," she murmured. "I'm sorry for what I said." When he said nothing in return, she departed for the tent. He closed his eyes.

* * *

The rain had intensified and was pounding on the canvas of the tent when Althaea woke up from a light snooze. She sat up a little, casting her eyes about - Fenris hadn't come in. She figured he might have waited until she'd fallen asleep, but apparently that hadn't been the case.

What she'd said had been insensitive, but Maker, this was_ ridiculous_. When she'd retired to the tent the rain had only been a light sprinkle, but it was coming down in earnest now and he was sure to be drenched. She sighed and wrapped her cloak around her, then poked her head out of the tent to see if she could find him.

He was in the same spot as he had been, wrapped up in his cloak and leaning up against a nearby tree; it was providing little in the way of shelter and she rolled her eyes a little. _Stubborn mule._ She stepped out, raising her hood against the rain, and walked over to him.

"Please come inside the tent," she said.

"I told you I was fine out here." His tone was brusque and cold, but as he said it, he shivered.

"Don't be daft, Fenris. You're soaked to the bone and you'll catch a chill. We can't afford for you to get sick."

"I said I was _fine_!" His markings flared a little on the last word. _Try and intimidate me, why don't you_, she thought. _Like it's worked at all thus far._

She reached down and yanked him up by a sopping wet arm. "Stop acting like a petulant child and go to the tent." Her tone brooked no argument, and he stood in front of her, nearly a head taller than her, staring her down. _If eyes were daggers, I'd be a stabbing victim._

She stared back at him, channeling all the defiance she could muster, and pointed an imperious finger at the tent. He lingered a moment longer, an odd look on his face. Althaea lowered her arm and tilted her head quizzically, vaguely aware of the fact that she was now nearly as wet as he was. Then, suddenly, he took a step in toward her, eyes burning with an intensity she'd seen only a couple of times before. He leaned in to match her height and seized her in a kiss.

It was no chaste peck, not by a long shot, or even the sweet, unseasoned caresses she'd shared with Marius years ago. Nor was it like any of the ones she'd received from Septimus or any of the men he'd lent her to during her time in his house; rough claims to her person made with no regard for her well being or satisfaction. This was so different – fervent and passionate, but with an underlying apprehension that made her stiffen in his arms, taken completely by surprise.

He was about to pull away when Althaea stood on her toes, pulled him to her, and returned it with zeal. The kiss only ended when she shivered in his arms, her wet cloak clinging to her and sapping all the heat from her body. He looked down at her with a strange little smile, then walked to the tent, holding a hand out to her with a predatory smirk on his face. She wiped the rain out of her eyes and followed.

* * *

Once in the safety of the tent she sat and shed her cloak, the chattering of her teeth uncontrollably loud. It was pelting rain outside and she'd been out in it for several minutes, and it had soaked through every one of her layers. She couldn't even imagine how cold Fenris had been, out in the storm for at least an hour. _If I don't strip down, I'll never get warm, _she thought, and for the first time, the thought of being unclothed in front of him made her blush. She tried to hide the embarrassment as best she could, turning her back toward him, stripping to her smalls, and arranging the wet clothes so they'd have a chance to dry. There was rustling behind her and she assumed he was doing the same, but when she was about to lay down and pretend the last few minutes hadn't happened, his rough, callused hand reached up to touch her old master's brand on her shoulder. Then she heard more rustling as he backed off.

She pressed her lips together in the darkness of the tent. He must have seen the brand and been reminded of the things she'd endured in Septimus's service. That must have been it. But she'd _wanted_ this, she'd responded! There was no way he could stop what he was doing. She turned around and caught him as he was about to lie down, bringing her mouth up to the crook of his neck and worrying at one of his ears. _I'm still interested,_ she tried to make the gesture say. _Please don't leave me like this. _She smiled as his markings glimmered and he gave an involuntary shudder from her touch.

"Do they hurt?" she asked as she dragged a finger along one of the whorls on his shoulder, watching the glow subside where she touched.

"Not always," he said as she leaned farther forward to catch his mouth again. But the return was half-hearted, it seemed, and when she released him, he whispered, "We should get some rest."

Althaea frowned. It was a far cry from just a few minutes ago, but it looked as if she wouldn't be able to convince him of anything, really – at least not tonight. She didn't want to push him for a response; traveling through the forest would be hard enough without the complication of suddenly awkward companionship.

She was warm enough for now, so she punched part of the bedroll into a serviceable pillow and lay down, facing away from him. The strenuous travel of their last few days dragged her down into unconsciousness, and the last thought she registered was a faint hope that the Fade would be kind to her tonight.

* * *

She was sitting on the docks in Hasmal with her father in a memory of one of her summers spent there. She must have been about fifteen, just coming into womanhood, back when she'd still called him _adda_, back before he'd gotten his big break. Back when he had still loved her.

"I've received several offers for your dowry," he said to her. "The most enticing one is from the young Cuervo boy in Rialto."

"You mean to send me to Antiva?" She asked, remembering how very betrayed she had felt to be sent away in such a manner.

"Not just yet," he said, "but it's time for you to start thinking about what you will do when you come of age."

"_Adda_, why can't I marry a Tevinter boy? Why do you have to send me away?" There were tears in her eyes as she tugged at his sleeve.

"My peach," he said gently as he patted her head, "We are a family valued for the strength of the magic in our blood, and little else. Your best hope is to marry out of that. No Antivan will put you away for lack of magical heirs." He hugged her tightly, sitting on the dock with him and watching the Minanter flow lazily by.

Althaea watched her dream unfold, powerless to change anything. That was the realm of mages alone, but she was thankful that what she was watching this time was bittersweet, rather than horrifying.

* * *

She was nudged awake with a hasty hand and it took her a second to shake the fog of sleep off. Fenris was fully clothed and continuing to shake her shoulder as she sat up and reached for her clothes. _Still wet. Ugh._

"We have to go," he said without preamble. His tone of voice didn't invite questions. She slipped her clothes on, then donned her overvest and bracers. He had already packed his things and it looked like he was only waiting on her to get up before dismantling the tent.

She got up and out, and he did that in a hurry, directing her when she jumped in to lend a hand.

"What's going on?" she asked, then looked up as he pointed a finger toward the west, where a small army of white sails floated through the trees. _What…?_

"We need to stay ahead of those," he said as he folded the last bits of their tent into his pack.

"What are they? Some sort of…land ships?"

"I believe they're called _aravels_. It's a Dalish clan traveling." He stuck a finger in her chest with a silencing look as her eyes lit up. "And before you get any ideas, they _don't_ take kindly to unannounced guests, _especially_ if they're humans armed with dubiously gifted longbows. We'd do well to head the other way."

"But -"

"No 'but's," he said, grasping her firmly by the arm and moving her in the opposite direction. "I'll introduce you to Merrill when we get back to Kirkwall."

"Fenris, you're an elf. You think they wouldn't give you a warm welcome?"

"No." He kept moving, and didn't elaborate. "Come on – they travel slowly. If we can keep moving at a good clip, we can stay out of their way."

It was the polar opposite of his attitude the night before, but Althaea didn't have time to think about it. She trailed behind him as he set a grueling pace through the underbrush, and struggled to keep up.

* * *

It was several hours before he slowed down and looked to the west, trying to see if the aravel sails were still visible. They were in another clearing that would be good for a camp, if they were far enough ahead.

"Can you climb and see how far we are from the sails?" he asked her. He must have been remembering her ease in getting to the crow's nest while aboard the _Lifestyle_.

"'Can I climb'!" she said in a mock scoff, smiling. She shed her gloves and scrambled into a suitable looking tree. It was a little hard to tell from her vantage point, but the view stretched for leagues in each direction and she didn't see any signs of the caravan.

She leaned down and said to him from above, "It's hard to tell. I can't see anything to the west, but we're not too far from the edge of the forest. Maybe half a day's travel...? After that it's plainsland and I _think_ I can see the bluffs that the city is built upon. I think there's a road...?"

"We can rest for a bit, then," he said. "No tent, no fire." Althaea sighed, but climbed down, balled her pack up into a pillow, and lay down against it.

"What will you do when we get home?" she asked him as she eyed the canopy above her. The sun was setting, but barely any of the summer sun's light reached through; it was blessedly cool here in comparison to the muck and heat they had been forced through when they'd first started traveling in the forest.

"I suppose the first thing I'll do is collect my payment, since the crew of the _Lifestyle_ were so happy to relieve us of it."

"I think I'm going to take a nice, long bath. I'll make it extra hot and soak until my skin turns red." She frowned when Fenris snorted. "Never underestimate the power of a hot bath," she said. "It can turn your entire day around."

"I'll take your word for it," said Fenris, who was leaning up against a tree for his idea of a nap.

"You should also consider it advice," she said. "You stink."

"You're not exactly smelling like roses, either," he said irritably.

Althaea rolled to her belly, eyeing him with mirth. "I suppose you're right, but at least my hair looks better!"

"What's wrong with my hair?" he asked, then thumbed it back crossly, as he was wont to do lately. Althaea pointed at him as he made the gesture.

"That. You need it cut, and badly."

"Yes, well, I'll see to it when we get back to the city and I have a proper looking glass."

"If you ask me nicely, I'll take my dagger to it right now," she said in a singsong tone she hadn't used since the day they met.

"I…well, all right."

She got up and draped his cloak around him. She made short work of the task, then whipped the clippings out of the cloak with a flourish.

"Where did you learn how to do that?" That stopped her, and she stretched the corner of her mouth in a little frown, debating on how best to say it.

"It's a skill I learned in passing." It came out a bit more cavalier than she had intended, but she didn't correct it.

"It was one of your duties." It wasn't a question.

"You could say that." She didn't really want to get into the details; at the first slice of the dagger against his hair, she'd been forced to push away a rather unpleasant memory in which she'd done the same for another man, but not of her own accord. She had eventually settled into the familiar rhythm, though, and when that happened, it had gone away. In that moment she had been proud of herself, and wondered if Fenris made a habit of reclaiming little memories for himself, the way she had.

_Probably not_. She ruffled his freshly cut hair, went back to her makeshift pillow, and was really rather relieved when he didn't push the issue.

* * *

He shook her awake what felt like several hours later, and had her climb the tree again. She still couldn't see the sails, couldn't see much of anything but smoke rising, perhaps a league off.

"They're not far behind us, but they're not moving. I see smoke, so they've made camp." She climbed down.

"Go back to sleep," he said, sitting up against the tree, sword unsheathed. "We'll get moving again at first light."

They continued the pace he had set, and late into the next day's travel, the forest gave way to plains. She scrambled up a nearby hill.

"I can see Kirkwall from here!"

"It probably looks close, but I'm sure it's at least another day out."

"That's okay – we're almost home!" She ran down the hill, gathering speed.

"Althaea, _wait!_" he called out after her. When he finally caught up, he said, "We need to be _especially_ cautious here. There are bandits and Tal-Vashoth on the coast, and frankly, I'd rather not run into either. We'll take the other road."

Althaea couldn't help but agree. She had been toying with her new dagger as they had walked through the forest, but it was true that she probably would not be able to hold her own in a knife fight, which left only Fenris for close-quarters dueling. The best she would be able to do would be to pick people off from afar, as she had during the mutiny on the _Lifestyle_. He was a formidable foe, but as on the ship, he'd be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

They decided to keep moving through the night, now that there was a road and just enough moonlight to see where they were going. Althaea was nearly asleep on her feet, but continued to move with the promise of her real bed waiting for her; they met two men on the road who might have been highwaymen, but when Fenris readied his sword and she strung her bow, they put their hands up.

"Careful if you're headed to the city, it's a mess in there," one of them said roughly as they crossed paths with a wide berth.

The two exchanged dark looks and picked up their pace again.

"My blisters are going to have blisters," she groused as they hustled east, the dark silhouette of the city looming over them.

* * *

True to the highwayman's word, Kirkwall was looking a little worse for the wear, and there were two Templars stationed at the city gates. _Familiar ones, at least,_ Althaea thought as they stepped up to them.

"Maximillian, Rickard," she said, as they inclined their heads toward her, the younger one with a familiar smile.

"You look about as good as us," said Rickard, the smiling one, with a grin. "I hear you're overdue."

"Had a bit of trouble with our ride home," she said. "We met some…travelers a bit west of here, said it was a mess. What's going on?"

"All's fine now, thanks to that lad Hawke, but the damned ox men made a move on it last week. The Viscount's dead, Allie."

Althaea blinked a few times as the men opened the small inset gate, allowing them in. She'd have her work cut out for her for sure, regardless of the current situation, but the death of the Viscount was not going to help the state of things on the administrative end.

"If one of you could deliver a message?"

"Might take a bit, Allie, but you can always count on me," said Rickard.

"Let Brother Sebastian know I'm home safe, but I'll need to rest before I come back to work."

"Can do – my post ends in a couple of hours."

"Thanks, Rick." They entered into the bowl that was Lowtown.

"_Allie_?" Fenris asked, with a tone of surprise and an incredulous eyebrow.

"Don't get any ideas," she responded, poking a finger into his breastplate. "Rick is the only person who gets to call me that."

"And why, exactly, is that?"

Althaea was hard-pressed to give him an answer. "I actually don't know," she said. "He just…always did."

"You are an odd woman, Althaea."

"Yes, well, I never pretended to be anything otherwise." She stopped at a fork in the city path. "You know, I can get myself home from here."

"It's no trouble."

"Honestly. I live on the other end of Lowtown, the next hex over from the Hanged Man. It's a ways to Hightown from there."

"How else am I supposed to know where to go when I come to call?"

She blinked twice, unsure of what to say to that, really. "You're planning on calling on me?"

"You _did_ offer to teach me to read," said Fenris dryly. _That I did,_ she thought, barely remembering that conversation in the Grand Cathedral's library. "Unless you've rescinded it and haven't told me."

"No, I'm still happy to," she said with a smile.

"Good. I look forward to it," he said. "Now, if you'd lead the way to your home, I can get to mine."

They walked through the Lowtown streets, surveying the damage the Qunari had made; it looked like they had cut a narrow swath from the docks through Lowtown and had headed straight for the Keep above. It was still very early in the morning, so she couldn't tell if the merchant stalls were unmanned because of the hour or because they'd been scared off.

She hung them out across the Hanged Man's courtyard, where several men stumbled out, drunkenly singing some tune or other; it was barely discernable. Fenris eyed them with disgust and Althaea giggled a little at his response.

"They're going to regret life in the morning," she said.

"Only if they wake up. If they're lucky, the ale will have gotten them first," he replied. "They keep wine stocked for me since I'm in there so often."

"I didn't take you for the type to drink in public," she quipped.

"I don't, generally, but we get together for Wicked Grace at least once a week and Corff doesn't take kindly to people sitting and not buying. Hence, wine."

"I wonder why I've never seen you in there?"

"Do you stay late?"

She dragged her head in a negatory shake. "Not really. If I'm busy and don't have time to cook, I'll take a meal there. I try not to, too often, it's all drowning in salt." She turned and opened a door to a stairwell, climbing. "The food at the Rose is better, but I don't want people to get the wrong idea."

"Templars visit the Rose all the time. I wouldn't worry overmuch," he said as she stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and searched through her pockets for her key.

"You can come in, if you like, but I'd rather you didn't. I'll try and have it clean the next time you come over."

He shrugged. "I need to get some rest anyway."

She thought of her bed and wasn't excited at the thought of stuffing the mattress with fresh straw. "Thank you for everything. I'm sorry it got so complicated at the end." She blushed to the roots of her hair. "The trip, I mean."

"It's not your fault," he said, and stiffened a bit when she hugged him. She cracked open her door and stepped through. "I'll see you soon, and maybe when that happens, neither of us will stink." She closed the door on him with a mischievous grin.

She went to her window and watched him cross the terrace, and giggled a little as he discreetly sniffed himself and grimaced.


	6. Kirkwall Interlude: Return

**A/N: **I'm afraid that for all my dialogue-heavy style, this one might get a little boring from an overabundance of exposition. This was a really hard chapter to write and I found myself jumping ahead, bitten by a plot bunny that takes place some ten chapters after this one.

Hopefully it reads better than I think it does. If not, just bear with me and I swear it will get better.

Thanks as usual go out to **GirlyGeek**, my sounding board and partner-in-crime, as well as **Kukapetal **and all the other amazing folks who have gone to the trouble of writing reviews.

Thanks!

* * *

CHAPTER SIX – KIRKWALL INTERLUDE: RETURN

Althaea woke at dawn and realized she had slept through not only the entire day, but the night as well. She stretched, her muscles feeling like taut ropes, and oozed out of bed.

In her banter with Sebastian, she often called her little home "The Scholar's Nest". It was a tiny Lowtown loft, smaller than most of the apartments surrounding it, and the monthly cost of renting it was far below what she could have afforded on her modest Chantry salary. Which was good, because she preferred to spend her money on other, more important things. Living in a rougher hex had its downsides, but she was careful enough to have stayed out of major trouble in the time she'd lived here.

She assessed the situation. She was going to have a lot of work to do if Fenris was serious about coming to call; the only place suitable for giving him lessons would be the largish dining table she used as a writing desk, which was…currently covered in a mess of papers and books. She'd have to unpack her things, stuff her mattress with fresh straw, and restock her larder and firewood.

She caught a whiff of herself as she stood, mostly undressed. She had been too tired to wash before she had collapsed into bed, and even though the day's work would be sweaty, she figured she ought to at least start the day in relative cleanliness. _Then, as a reward to myself, I can go to the bathhouse in Hightown, soak until I might drown, and fetch a dinner from the Rose._

She put a soft pair of trousers on, grabbed a water bucket, attached it to the rope-and-pulley hanging from the window, and headed downstairs. She lowered the bucket and headed to the pump, filling it up with just a few large strokes. _Must have replaced the pump handle,_ she thought. _Last time I used this, it took what felt like hours for one bucket, and bath time was a nightmare. _She hauled the bucket up and used the warm morning's water for a perfunctory wash.

She bustled about the rest of her business, organizing and straightening things up and clearing off the table, munching on the last of the hardtack as she went along. Yes, restocking her larder would have to happen today, and she was glad she wouldn't have to head all the way to Hightown to pick up the means to do it. If she showed up at the Chantry she'd be expected to work, and she wasn't quite ready for that, yet. Too much to do, and too much to think about.

Fenris, for example. That night in the forest, he had kissed her... She'd been attracted to him from the get go, but hadn't really thought of him as more than a friend; that night he'd shattered all her pretenses, and he'd made her want him. Suddenly, she'd wanted him in a way she hadn't felt for years and years, in a way she'd thought she never might after Marius was stolen from her in so much blood. But then he had pulled away, apparently changing his mind, and sank back into his thoughts, leaving her alone with hers. They'd had to outrun the caravan and he went back to the taciturn self he was, his only concern fulfilling his contract and keeping her alive.

She found she didn't like _that_ Fenris as much. That Fenris was brusque, cool, and collected, almost meditative. She couldn't fluster him, or make him blush or smile, or even squeeze a clever turn of phrase out of his mouth in response to one of her well-placed jibes. That Fenris didn't banter or play back, and it was that Fenris who'd gotten her all the way home to Kirkwall.

Then, almost like a lever was pulled, they'd entered the city gates and he'd become friendly and warm again, or what passed for friendly and warm in an otherwise sardonic, surly elf. He had made sure he knew where she lived so he could come, had even called her 'odd' in a somewhat affectionate way. How very strange.

_Are we friends? _She had asked him aboard the _Lifestyle _before it had fallen to mutiny. _If we aren't I'd imagine we're something close to it, _he'd said in reply.

Althaea figured that there are just some things in life you don't go through with another, without becoming friends. If an errant masquerade ending in tragedy, blackmail by the highest ranking official in the Chantry, a mutiny, and an unscheduled detour through a forest weren't among those things, she didn't know what _was_.

Maker, but she had become a magnet for trouble. She'd thank Him kindly if He saw fit to let her go back to her quiet life.

She thought briefly of the Dalish man, then, and the Divine's subtle threat, but stuffed those things into the back of her mind, remarking to herself that she was long overdue for a confession and she would have to piece through those things with Sebastian, anyway. She'd get around to that as soon as she went back to work. Today, she would get her life back in order, and relax before what she knew would be a very busy next few weeks.

It was several hard hours' worth of cleaning and several bags' worth of paper sent to kindling, but the Scholar's Nest was finally ready to receive visitors. Althaea looked around at her handiwork. Table clean, fresh straw and linens on her cozy bed, and clothes laundered, dishes washed, an inventory of her larder taken. In that time the quiet of morning in Lowtown had become the dull bustle of daytime noise: merchants crying out their wares, people bustling to and fro, and gulls coming in from the docks all the while, screaming for their piece of the action below. She supposed it was late enough in the day to go about getting more food and wood, and changed from her trousers and chemise into a cool, sleeveless linen dress, binding her hair up into a quick bun. _Not the most beautiful way to dress oneself, but it's hot out and I have no one to impress today._

She reached for a compartment under the bed, pulled a few sovereigns from her hidden savings, then grabbed her basket and headed downstairs toward the bustle of the market. She was haggling with a merchant over rice and oat flour when she heard a familiar baritone speak behind her, in Arcanum: "It would be more prudent if you kept that sigil covered up." _He must have meant the slave brand_, she decided as he edged up toward her at the stall. She went bare-shouldered all the time in the summer, and had always figured anyone who saw it wouldn't know its true meaning. She was sure she was safe here in Kirkwall, at least as long as the Divine kept Her Holy Mouth shut.

Of course, that would only happen if Althaea complied with whatever foul plan the shrewd woman had cooking, if there was one at all. No, there had to be. She wouldn't have gone to the trouble of compiling a thrice-damned _dossier_ on Althaea if she hadn't.

She shoved the thought to the back of her mind, again. _What a beautiful, warm day it is. Like spring in Minrathous. _She found herself wishing she had chosen a nicer outfit, though. She was sure she looked quite bedraggled in her current state, and even though she knew Fenris had seen her at her absolute worst, she didn't want him to think that was how she always was.

"If I ever find myself in Tevinter again, I'll be sure to take your advice to heart," she finally responded, also in Arcanum, then switched back to the common tongue. "I trust you slept well?"

"I did, thank you." He spared her a half-smile, which she returned generously.

"What are you doing down here?" she asked, genuinely curious. The grocers were _much_ better in Hightown, but she couldn't bring herself to climb the hundreds of steps up the cliff-face to get to them today, not when she was planning on going up later for dinner and a bath.

"Did you think, perhaps, that I had a magical larder that restocked itself?" He made it clear it was meant to be a friendly jest. He smirked as she halfheartedly elbowed him, rolling her eyes. _Friendly, again. It must have been the opportunity to sleep, and being home for the first time in weeks. Maker knows it has improved __**my**__ outlook._

She decided to play along. "I was just wondering if you had a problem with giving your custom to Hightown merchants, actually."

He sighed a little, and gathered his own order from the merchant. _Wrong answer, Althaea._ She hauled the sack of rice over a shoulder, then made to gather her basket, but he took it out of her hands. It was heavy for her, but he lifted it as easily as if it were a bag of wool.

"I'll help you home." It wasn't a question. Althaea couldn't decide whether she should be offended or flattered by the help. She settled on 'flattered'.

"You're off contract now, Fenris," she said, as sternly as she could, but smiled at his thoughtfulness anyway. He'd be able to haul the basket up the stairs with ease, even loaded down with his own manifest. "You don't need to do anything for me."

"I know," he replied, face inscrutable, and began to walk toward her home. _What was it that Cora used to say? 'The happiest man on the Minanter is he who travels with the flow of it.'_

_Travel with the flow of it. _"You never did tell me why you didn't shop for groceries in Hightown."

"You're right, I didn't." He rearranged the basket as they went up the stairs. "The truth of it is that once I made it clear I wasn't anyone's _servant_, I was no longer welcome at their stalls." He said it with a distasteful air. "They don't want any knife-ears darkening their proverbial doorsteps."

Althaea hadn't thought about that. She apparently didn't think of a lot of things, the least of which was that an elf living in Hightown as anything other than a servant would be an odd sight, indeed.

She opened the door to her little loft, kicking it open gently with her toes. "Welcome to the nest."

He had a look around her modest little place, placing the grocery basket on one of the tables near the hearth. Althaea put down her sack of rice and took the small bouquet she had purchased from the top of the load, breathing in the smell of them. Tournesol, heliotrope, and Andraste's Grace were all in season, and she was glad for a splash of greenery among the Lowtown stone. "There, now it feels like home," she said with a little more pride than she should have allowed.

He put his own basket next to hers, running an appraising eye along the place. "I thought you said it was a mess. This doesn't look so bad."

"I spent several hours tidying up this morning, else you wouldn't have said that," she giggled, then gathered up the sack she would take with her to the bathhouse. "Would you like some help taking your things home? It's an awful lot to haul up those stairs."

"I don't really need help," he said, rather carefully.

"I'm headed to the bathhouse in Hightown, so I'll help, anyway." She grabbed one of his bags, stuffed with several loaves of bread and cheese. "Besides, I believe I still owe you at least ten favors for everything I've put you through."

He shrugged, apparently resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to be able to shake her off. "I suppose I wouldn't mind the company."

"And here I was, thinking I'd give you a week to start missing me."

That elicited a chuckle from him. "Damnable woman." He hitched the basket up into one arm and held the door open for her.

They walked to Hightown in what Althaea considered a gritty parallel to their promenade through the streets of Val Royeaux. Instead of silken finery, she was wearing a plain linen dress; and he was unarmored, and unarmed.

"You live in a mansion," she said as he led her to the entryway, opening the door.

"Borrowed," he said, "from my old master."

"Hmm." She followed him to the kitchen, where he laid his load on one of the many counters and gestured at her to do the same.

"It could use a few layers of paint," she tried to quip as she lay the bag down, but couldn't wipe the pitiful look off her face before he turned around. _Caught in the act. _She gave him a sheepish smile.

He shook his head with a smirk. "It could also use a new roof and an army of gardeners."

"Can I have a look around?" He nodded his assent. She padded through the rooms, assessing the damage; the place would have been beautiful in its prime, but bordered on decrepit, now.

_Oh Maker, but the garden._ The back courtyard was overgrown, but she couldn't suppress a gasp of awe at the sight of it. There was a small pond in the center, stone benches, and what looked like wild-grown flowers amongst a rampant growth of ivy. She wasn't sure how long she stood, slack-jawed and imagining how it would look with just a little bit of love, but Fenris interrupted her little daydream with a chuckle.

"I take it you approve."

"It's beautiful. Wild and unchecked, but beautiful, all the same." She sat on one of the benches, allowing the late afternoon's sun to shine on her face.

"You're welcome to visit it any time you like."

Her heart leapt at the idea of being able to relax amongst the greenery, especially since her home was so lacking in it. The gardens of her childhood estate had been one of the things she remembered most fondly; she would climb into the branches of a large live oak there and read for hours on end, with only the squirrels for company. "Truly?" she asked him, though she never knew him to make an offer and then rescind it.

"Any time you like," he repeated. He had a funny look on his face, a sort of wistful smile. "Perhaps you may even have a care to tame it."

Althaea knew nothing of gardening, her family's house slaves having tended to the grounds, but wouldn't mind having a go at it. "I'd like that…very much." She got up from the bench, remembering her plans for the evening's bath. "I should go, though. For now." She allowed him to escort her to the door.

He opened it up, but before she had a chance to leave, he stopped her. "It's Wicked Grace tonight at the Hanged Man, if you're interested. I could introduce you to Merrill, as I promised."

She wasn't all that great at the game, and thought that maybe she ought to decline, if only for the fact that she was planning on returning to work tomorrow. Then again, if she declined his invitation, would he think he should never invite her again? _Better not to take chances. He's exploring the middle ground between 'indifferent bodyguard' and 'passionate would-be lover' and I'd hate to discourage it. Decisions!_

_Well, you can drop in for a little while, then go home when you're getting tired. It wouldn't be so bad, after all. _"I would like that. When will you be there?"

"I can pick you up in an hour or two."

_Fasta vass, that wouldn't be enough time for me to relax as much as I'd like. _She thought she'd spend at least an hour soaking, then take time to actually _scrub_, and braid her hair in the style she kept most often in the city…"How about I meet you? I might be a while."

"Fair enough," he said, and gave a little bow as he showed her out the door. "_Mox nocit_, then, and enjoy your bath."

* * *

Fenris gazed out the window of his study after a dinner of the bread and cheese he'd bought in the market. The sun was setting on the garden below, lighting only the top of the courtyard, where ivy clung to the stone of the estate next door.

The mansion still belonged to Denarius, or to whatever unfortunate soul his old master had 'borrowed' it from, but it was the closest thing to a true home he'd ever had. He had gotten rid of almost all of the magister's old possessions, selling them for coin or destroying them, and had made a refuge out of the study. Beyond that, the bathroom, and the kitchen, he had little use for the other areas of the house and had let them go unattended.

She had walked through the mansion, looking in every room with what he imagined was disgust on her face, but she had _loved_ the garden. That made more sense than he thought it would have when he remembered her talking about the long hours she'd spent reading in her family's yard. He imagined it had always been a place of solace for her, and found himself wondering if she had found similar comfort in Septimus's gardens in Marnus Pell.

So, seeing the sheer joy on her face at the sight of the garden, he had done the only thing that could make sense to him: he'd offered it up to her as a gift. It was little more than a meager token, and one of very few things he could give to her given his general lacking of coin, but she'd acted as if he'd presented her with pearls or gold, or something deserving of her station.

Though, to be fair, the dagger he'd given her aboard the _Lifestyle_ was a cheap, two-copper implement, and she'd treasured that, too – taking care to wipe it clean after its use, seeing to its care, and wearing it at all times like he'd instructed her to, even, he found, here in Kirkwall. That dagger hadn't even been meant as a gift, more like a means to make sure he fulfilled his contract to the letter, but she'd assumed it was a gift from a friend and had accepted it as such. Perhaps the same was true of the garden, then.

He looked at his bare hand. She'd curtsied to him after he'd made his affected bow, terrible at flattery as he was, then squeezed his hand affectionately before taking her leave. He had braced himself for the feeling of commingled disgust and despair he had felt when Denarius touched him so, but it had never come. With her, it never came. That was more than he could say for any of Hawke's companions, despite having been part of their ragtag group for more than three years.

_They are your companions, too._ Even in three years of knowing and working with them, even in weekly games of Wicked Grace, he'd tried desperately to maintain his distance, for he never knew if or when Denarius would come for him again and he would have to drop everything and run. Now that he knew for sure Hawke wouldn't let him down, why hadn't he allowed that final barrier to fall? How had _she_ managed to work her way through it, like so much water through a hole in a boot?

_She's different. She had your curiosity, then your attention, and then your appreciation._ He remembered the way she had frozen up when she'd taken her dagger to his hair. It wasn't altogether different from the way he would pause when something reminded him of _his _bad, old days. But she had shaken it out and eventually finished her task with a flourish, and he had the feeling that in those minutes, she'd battled her memories and won.

_You're capable of doing the same._ Perhaps he should start thinking of it as a battle, like any other. He knew those well enough, having functioned as a living weapon for years. If she was capable of building a life out of the ashes, then so was he. He might have less to work with, true. But he had a _home_, he had _friends_, and now he had the means to reclaim his past. He had all the ingredients for a _life_, and though the threat of Denarius's return loomed over his head, he could still forge ahead and deal with that threat when it came. Althaea lived with the daily fear of being discovered, but hadn't let it get in the way. He saw it in the way she furnished and decorated her tiny loft, the way she cherished the little treasures, despite her original station. He saw it in the way she trusted so freely, despite not having a reason to.

_Yes, you're capable of it. _He resolved to take a page out of her proverbial book, thinking of the way she'd smile if he ever told her about that intent. He just didn't know how he would say it.

Perhaps he'd just kiss her again, and let that do the talking for him. He didn't know what had possessed him to do it that night in the forest, but in the moment she had called him out he had experienced an overwhelming desire to do so. She had accepted it with enthusiasm and a return that sent fire burning from his mouth to his loins; seeing her nude silhouette in the darkness of the tent stoked the fire even hotter, but the second he'd laid his hand along the raised scar of her brand, the fire in him had died. He remembered that even for her good humor and her wit, deep down she was just as broken as he. And so he had backed away, even despite her advances. He had been glad for the distraction the flight from the Dalish caravan had provided, lest she think that was the reason he'd suddenly become all business again. As soon as the immediate threat had passed, however, she'd resumed the smiles and the touches, dealing him witty riposte when he deigned to loosen up a little, as if he'd never rebuffed her in the first place.

_You need to remedy that_. He suddenly remembered that she _had _frozen up in his arms, at first – the same way she had when she'd cut his hair. So it _had_ bothered her, then, but she had shrugged it off! _Of course she would,_ he said to himself._ She knows you are not Septimus, and neither are you any of his cronies. Just as __**you**__ know she is not Denarius or Hadriana – nor are any of your friends._

He had never allowed anyone too close. Her voice wafted up into his head, from a conversation they'd had in Orlais: _That sounds like a lonely way to live a life. _He would do it. If not tonight, then soon, but Maker take him, he would become the men he envied or die trying.


	7. Wicked Grace

_**A/N:**__ I really imagined this first part being told in a "film noir" narration, but think of it as you will._

_Also, my Althaea headvoice is starting to sound a little Australian. Think Belle from Once Upon a Time, and think of THAT as you will because I don't think I've ever heard an Aussie accent in Thedas. Someone please feel free to correct me on that if you've heard it!_

_Props as always go to __**GirlyGeek **__for being my all-round sounding board. Love you, chicka!_

_Oh, and again, for good measure - the concept and character of Althaea Serra belong to me. Everything else belongs to BioWare. It's their sandbox - I just play in it._

**CHAPTER SEVEN - WICKED GRACE**

_The Hanged Man. What did Aveline call it? "A hive of scum and villainy". _Varric was honing his internal monologue, the better to weave his narrative with; it would be even more important now that Hawke was named Champion of Kirkwall.

_This was always my favorite corner of the tavern. Not too quiet, not too loud, and close enough to keep the wait staff's attention. Not that I don't get good service here to begin with, now that I've upgraded to the palatial suite._

Hawke's band would likely arrive in bits and pieces. The first of those tonight was...Fenris, amazingly enough. It had been _weeks _since he'd seen the elf last, and the only thing he'd said before leaving was that he was taking an escort mission for that choir boy...what was his name? Sebastian. There it was.

_In he walks, eyes wandering, always ready to leap to his own defense. He brushes a bit of imaginary dirt off his shoulders and checks his greatsword at the door. But this is no ordinary elf; he's almost as dangerous unarmed. I've seen him rip the heart out of a man with his bare hands - straight through the armor. He comes toward my corner of the bar, more a creature of habit than he ever thought he was, but I suppose the safety he found in our numbers has made him more relaxed if no less vigilant. One day his master might come back for him, and when that day comes Hawke has pledged his sword to the cause._

_He sits down at my table, inclines his head at me. The serving girl already knows his order, since it's always the same. _Avalia Pamunalis _or some other Tevinter wine, whatever Corff can get his hands on for a friend of his best customer. He may not have a lot of coin, but he appreciates a good bottle of wine for his weekly card game and is willing to pay for it._

"Been a while, elf." Varric sat back against the wall with his tankard of ale.

"Six weeks, I believe." The bar girl laid his glass of wine on the table in front of him and scampered off. _All these years, and she's still terrified of him, even unarmored and unarmed as he is now. That's new._

"Sounds like there's a story behind that," _I say hopefully._

"There is indeed, but I think you'll hear it from others before you hear it from me." _He sits and drinks his wine, the epitome of cool, calm, and collected. _

"'Zat so?"

"Yes. My companion is rather...talkative, so I'll just let her tell the story when she comes in tonight. If you don't mind." He took a sip of his wine after swirling the glass and smelling it.

"Mixing business with pleasure, elf?" Varric knew Fenris wasn't particularly sociable, so whoever managed to pique his interest enough to turn an escort contract into a friendship must have been a very intriguing person indeed.

"You could say that," said the elf with a cryptic smile. "She'll be here later, and you're welcome to interrogate her to the ninth degree. Where is everyone?"

"Oh, they'll be along, shortly." They fell into a companionable silence.

_Down the stairway walks Isabela, our troupe's resident pirate queen. You would call her a captain if she still had a ship, but her little stunt with a certain, priceless tome left her without one. Left us without a city, almost, more like. She notices the elf and deepens her swagger, having a seat far enough away from him to show off her...assets. Isabela knows what she likes and makes no mistake about wanting it; she's been gunning for the elf ever since he blew into this damned town._

_Fenris does his best to let her passes glance off him, and eventually tells her in no uncertain terms that she ought to keep her distance. That's also new. She backs off, pouting, but orders herself a brandy to pass the time until everyone else streams in and the game can begin._

_Merrill, the Dalish mage, makes her way into the tavern, escorted by none other than our Champion, Garrett Hawke. It's been three years and she still can't navigate her way through a paper bag, let alone Lowtown; without an escort she'd be as good as lost. Anders, the Fereldan apostate, isn't far behind. He's never far behind these days, now that he's moved in with the Champion for good. The two were inseparable, to be sure, but the level of disgustingly cute they've reached since then is enough to make an ogre vomit._

_Everyone is here, everyone except for Aveline and Sebastian, the most aboveboard of our merry crew. Busy on official business, no doubt. And this girlfriend of the elf's is apparently missing too. He certainly is looking toward the door a lot tonight. Waiting._

It was a while for everyone to get their bearings, talking over the week's business and seeing if Hawke had any work to do, as well as trying to squeeze details out of Fenris on his six-week hiatus. He had few, other than stating he had taken a job to Orlais and hinting that it had gone badly wrong.

"There's a story in it," said Varric, "but he says he's not gonna be the one to tell it." There was a collective groan from the group as he shuffled the cards. "Apparently his little girlfriend will be the one to treat us. That is, _if_ she shows up."

_Did I get him? I got him._ Varric watched Fenris pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation and go as red as his tanned skin would let him. He noted, though, that he didn't bother correcting him on the semantics.

Daisy giggled, earning her a venomous stare, while the boys shared a knowing smile. The Rivaini eyed him with a traitorous look; the elf's reaction to Varric's words had told her everything she needed to know about his abject dismissal and she was _not_ happy about it, not happy at all. He never saw it. His focus was still flitting to his wine glass, then the doorway. Varric dealt the first hand among those who had bought in, and the friendly banter continued.

"This companion of yours, does she have a name?" Hawke asked mildly, throwing down four of a kind Angels to win the round. Fenris hissed and threw his hand down, in it a whole lot of nothing.

"Her name is Althaea."

"And she works for the Chantry," said Anders. "Charming, just what we needed." _Daisy raises up her hands as if to say, 'speak for yourself, chum'._

"Funnily enough, _mage_, I doubt she'd take more offense to you than _I_ already do. She's far too charitable for her own good." He flagged Varric for another hand.

"Hopefully she's charitable enough to keep her flap shut about the two mages at the table, then," he groused.

"She's not stupid," said Fenris, inspecting the new draw. "She knows better than to upset your lover, I'm sure of it." He threw down the Angel of Death and a full house. "Besides, she already knows about both of you. My take."

_Grabbing the coins, he looks at the doorway again, and isn't disappointed this time. His sardonic mask softens into a smile. A real one, though, one he generally reserves for Hawke and no others. I follow his eyes to the door._

_The first thing I notice is her hair, dark and twisted into a complicated series of braids around her head. Her getup is a little fancy for Lowtown but the dress is cotton, not silk, and more conservatively cut than the Kirkwall gentry commonly call for. An aspirant to the highborn life? She's not stupid, though, as the elf promised; a dagger hangs from a leather belt around her waist. I wonder if she knows how to use it._

_She spots her quarry, who raises his hand in greeting, then gestures toward an empty spot on the bench between himself and the Dalish girl. Her face lights up and she moves in their direction. The pirate raises an eyebrow as if to say, "you're interested in _that_?"_

_The girl draws closer and I understand the sentiment. Her face is comely enough for a human, but a bit on the boyish side. Her physique doesn't help the issue, either. But she's chosen her hair and dress carefully and right now looks distinctly feminine, and her smile is warm and generous when it comes. And the eyes, sweet Paragons, they're a shade of purple I've never seen on a human._

_The elf isn't sure how to introduce her, so she takes the initiative and introduces herself to everyone in turn as she sits. Good girl. Let me help you out a little. _"Broody, is this the one you took to Orlais and back for the choir boy?"

"For the hundredth time, dwarf, I do _not_ brood." _She giggles. He looks at her in irritation, and asks, _"What?"

"To answer your question, yes, he did escort me to Val Royeaux." _She says the name in a perfect Orlesian accent, but her own seems the bastard child of Kirkwall and... something else I can't put my finger on._

"I was told you'd have a story for us?" _Let's see if she bites._

"Only if I can tell it later...I'm starving." _She flags down the serving girl, who is much less afraid of her than she was of the elf, and orders food. She goes with the stew, nice and safe, and a tankard of ale. Not as highbrow as the elf, then, and happy to drink the Hanged Man's swill._

_Daisy has been staring at her this entire time and pipes up, with as little self-control as ever. _"Oh, Althaea, you're so fine-boned! Do you think you might be elf-blooded?" _She doesn't realize most humans take it as an insult._

_Fenris buries his face in one of his hands, but if this Althaea is taken aback by the comment, she doesn't show it. _"Not that I know of, but it's not terribly uncommon where I come from, especially in families of my...type." _Might explain the eyes. _

"And where is that?" _Daisy doesn't know when to stop, but the girl is as charitable as her big elf says she is._

"I was raised in Tevinter."

"Oh! So was Fenris! But your accent doesn't sound anything like his -"

"That's because she's highborn," _interrupts the other elf, in the height of irritation. _

_The girl smoothes things over as deftly as she can: "_I'm from the southern end of the Imperium, whereas Fenris is from Minrathous in the north. In my part of the Imperium, we speak with smatterings of Antivan, or sometimes Nevarran."

"I'm surprised the two of you aren't at each other's throats," _says the pirate queen, gesturing toward the two of them._

_The elf's cavalier voice is accompanied by a shrug. _"I enjoy the irony of our acquaintance."

_Daisy looks confused, but the girl clarifies with a smile. _"My father is a magister." _Anders interrupts._

"Oh, so apparently associating with mages is _fine_ when they're daughters of magisters, then? Looking for a little piece of home, I suppose? Perhaps a new _mistress_?" _The girl's face contracts into a scoff. The elf drops his cards, lights up, and begins to rise from his seat, but a grasp of the wrist and minute shake of the head from the girl mollifies him. She doesn't see the flare of Blondie's passenger in his eyes. Thank goodness for small favors._

"I hate to disappoint, Anders, was it? But I'm not a mage. That's a good part of the reason why I'm _here_, and not _there_." _There's a story in that, too, I'm sensing. Bless Hawke and his affinity for interesting folks. Blondie sits, looking sheepish about his overreaction._

_I decide it's time to rescue the girl, and give her a moniker. Two birds, one stone. "_You buying in, Peaches?"

_She stiffens. Apparently I've hit a nerve. _"Please, Varric. Call me anything you like but that."

_Request taken. _"Fine by me, then, Violet. You buying in?"

"Not tonight," _she says._ "I'm just here to drink."

_I laugh and deal another round. This Violet is my kinda human._ _She sits with Daisy, eating and talking animatedly with her; I keep half an ear open and find they're exchanging knowledge about Tevinter and the Dalish. Violet pulls a small book out of one of her waist pouches, and Daisy's eyes glitter as they look through it together. Broody seethes the entire time, despite the fact that the girl is sitting shoulder to shoulder with him._

_When Daisy gets up to find the privy, she turns to him and says something in a language only they understand. I can tell it's a question._

_He answers in kind, and I think I hear the word "maleficar" in there somewhere. So they're discussing Daisy, or maybe Blondie. She answers mildly and he sighs. She cocks a smile and pats his hand, goes back to her stew. Hawke stares. Maybe he's as impressed as I am that there's one more person who won't tolerate his bullshit._

_She's done eating, so I pounce. _"Are you going to regale us with your story, then, Vi?"

"Well, most of it was really rather boring, and some of it is for me alone, but on our way home, there was a mutiny..." _We stop playing momentarily while she weaves the tale. She speaks well, and isn't a bad weaver, to be sure. Maybe a little too honest, though._

_When she gets to the part about the Dalish caravan, Daisy asks if she saw the emblem on the sails. Fenris gives her a withering glare._

"We were a bit too busy running in the other direction to notice," _he says. _

_Violet ends the story and shrugs. _"I'd consider it the worst trip I've ever had if it weren't for having met a new friend." _Friends, my hairy dwarven chest. Maybe I'll take bets on the sex of their firstborn._

_A few more rounds go by before she says a few words to Daisy and gets up to leave, holding the elf by his shoulder for balance. _"I have to work in the morning," _she says._ "Thank you for having me." _She smiles at Anders, who doesn't seem to understand the concept of 'forgive and forget'._

_The elf hops up from his seat. _"I'll escort you."_ All our eyes follow as they leave, and we exchange sidelong glances at each other. The pirate breaks the silence._

"They need to quit circling the wagons and fuck already," _she says, rolling her eyes. She is clearly not a happy camper._

"I think they're adorable," _says Daisy in a dreamy voice._


	8. Night Skies of Kirkwall

**A/N: **MAN am I on a roll! This will be the last update for a little bit, since I know the next chapter is going to be quite a bit harder for me to write.

CHAPTER EIGHT - NIGHT SKIES OF KIRKWALL

"Copper for your thoughts?"

They were walking along the streets of Lowtown toward Althaea's home. It was a warm night, and dark, the last sliver of the month's moon hanging in the sky. Althaea found herself wishing for a cloak.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking the past few days, I don't think you could afford that," said Fenris. _Indeed you have,_ thought Althaea. _I can almost watch the gears turning in your head as you speak._

"Let's go for a walk," she said, abruptly changing direction and heading for the stairs that would take them to Hightown. Fenris seemed confused by the sudden change of itinerary, but she grasped his hand and led him as she set a quick pace through the streets.

She didn't say anything more as they ascended the stairs and walked, drawing near to the chantry.

"Where are we going?" Fenris finally asked.

"I want to show you something. It's at the chantry." But instead of walking through the large, ornamented main doors, she spirited them through a side passage to a stairwell.

They ascended the stairs that seemed to go on forever. Althaea had always loved this place, her little refuge. She only hoped Fenris didn't have any issues with heights; she'd taken Seb up here once and he'd nearly passed out from the vertigo.

"You don't...have any issues with climbing, do you?"

He cocked an eyebrow and gave her a careful "No..."

"Good." She opened a little wooden door and shed her slippers. She'd need all the traction she could get and the soles of those shoes were ill-suited for climbing. She felt for her familiar hand-holds and grasped them, beginning her ascent.

"Where are we going?" Fenris asked again, a little more apprehension in his voice. She looked down; he seemed to be having no trouble keeping up.

"It's one of the old bell tower balconies. Hasn't been used since the days of the old Imperium. It's not much farther."

She hauled herself up the last couple of feet and helped Fenris finish his own climb, then sat down next to one of the stylized brass eagles that stood vigil on the balcony. A giant, rusted bell sat behind them, its ringing rope gone for hundreds of years.

"Dark moon tonight, but when it's full you can see clear out to the Wounded Coast." She watched his face carefully for his reaction; a tiny quirk of a smile was all he gave.

"How did you find this place?"

She wasn't sure how to explain it. She couldn't even explain what possessed her to bring him up here in the first place, really, other than _he gave me his garden so I should give him my sanctum._

"When I first came Kirkwall, I was..." She didn't know how to say it. "I don't know. Angry. Scared. Withdrawn, too. Sebastian said I had the look of a cornered fox. Are you familiar with that maxim?"

"No."

"Neither was I." She looked out along the city. Most of it was dark, but there were still some pinpricks of light along the docks. "The full saying is, 'a cornered fox is more dangerous than a wolf'. I guess he thought I'd lash out at any given second."

Fenris didn't say anything to that, so she continued. "They'd taken me in, but I didn't trust them, not completely. It was like my mind was nothing but a child's scribble. I was confused, lost, unsure of what to do with myself, and utterly convinced that at any moment I'd find myself carted home in a sack. So...one day, I was having one of those moments, and I did the only thing that made sense to me, that ever made sense: I went for a climb. And I found this." She gestured out at the view of the city.

"It took almost a year to believe that no one in the chantry here was going to sell me out. They take their succor seriously, in Kirkwall at least. But whenever I needed time to get away, to think, to _brood_ -" she elbowed him gently, and he smiled at the jest - "this is where I came."

They sat for a long while, watching the stars above the city. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but didn't.

"You know, mages aren't the only people who have to deal with demons. Ours are a little different, but they dog us, all the same." She put a hand over his and watched the ghost of a smile play over his face. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I understand how hard it can be to talk about...what happened, but if you ever need an ear, you'll always have mine."

"When did you...when could you let go?" he finally asked.

She considered that a moment. "I don't think there was ever one single moment in which I up and decided it, if that's what you mean. I'm not sure it works that way." She dared to scoot a little closer. "I think it would have been easier if I had actually told Sebastian everything, told _someone_ everything. And since meeting you, I keep wondering if I haven't actually let go, not really, and all these years I've been faking my so-called 'peace'."

"It might explain the nightmares."

_So he made more note of them than I thought he did._ "Just so." She rearranged herself, twining her arm around his, and he chuckled a little.

"I thought, that, if you liked, we could...share. One secret for another. I'm not ready to tell anyone else what I've been through. I may never be. But _you_, you understand it. You've lived it. I think it might be different."

"I don't want this any more, this...hate. It's poison, and yet I continue to swallow it."

"You keep thinking that if you just have your vengeance against Denarius, that you'll be free to live your life."

He looked at her, stricken. _I must have hit on something, there. _She soldiered ahead. "Blood for blood never settles a score, Fenris. The best vengeance you can have against Danarius is to rise above what he made you to be. To see _past _the weapon, and be the man."

"How can I be someone I don't remember being? You had the luxury of remembering who you were!"

"Yes, but I'm _not_ her anymore. She's buried under five years' worth of assault on her autonomy. I'm me now, and I created me by...being me. I don't know how to explain it. And you're you."

"I don't know _who_ I am."

"I can tell you what _I _see, if you like." She mustered up the kindest smile she could. He buried his face in his hands and she held him, whispering.

"I see a man whose loyalty is hard to earn, but unwavering, once given. He's an indomitable spirit and a formidable foe. He keeps many secrets...maybe too many, and I see the pain of it in his eyes. But I _also_ see that he doesn't want it anymore." She brushed a finger along his ear, and said in a mischievous tone, "he's pretty handsome, too, if I do say so myself."

He chuckled, then grew serious again. "I thought last night that I had all the things I needed for a life, and that maybe I should finally make one."

She murmured her agreement. "Danarius may never come. It's time to stop waiting and start living. It'll be slow going, but I can promise you - it will be worth it."

They were quiet for a while longer, Althaea absentmindedly twirling her fingers through his hair. "I'll start," she said. "The first time Septimus tried to take me to his bed, I bit off his...finger."

Fenris laughed. "I can't imagine he'd have liked that very much."

"Luckily for me, he was able to reattach it rather quickly. That earned me my first real Breaking, though." She shuddered at the thought. "Your turn."

They spent the rest of the night trading their secrets, until the the moon hung low in the sky and Althaea fell asleep against his back, one hand twined in his hair, the other in his hand.


	9. Confessions

_**A/N**__: It's funny how being sick can call the muse to action. Fever-driven fiction, for real. I swear we'll come back to Fenris soon. Next chapter, for sure, and it will be glorious!_

_A lot of exposition again but I'm sure you'll forgive me, right? It was hard for me to reconstruct Andrasteanism (is that even the proper term?) so I delved into my experiences growing up Catholic. Hope that doesn't bother too many people…_

_Thanks as always go to __**GirlyGeek **__who puts up with my incessant blathering about Althaea, her motivations, and her actions, as well as __**Kukapetal**__ who is kind enough to venture into an unfamiliar fandom for the sake of constructive criticism._

_I am learning a lot here and I think by the time I've finished weaving this tale, I'll be ready to try my hand at a piece of original fiction. How exciting, right? On we go, to…_

**CHAPTER NINE - CONFESSIONS**

She'd been up all night. Maker, what had gotten into her lately? _Granted, it was for good reason, _she thought to herself with a smirk.

She'd realized what had happened, waking up a few hours after sunrise when the sun had finally peeked through the archway of the tower's balcony. She'd gained her bearings and woken with a start, then panicked at the late hour and had disentangled herself. The movement had woken Fenris and he'd had to follow her back down, rappelling down a rope she'd hung when she'd first started coming up here to think.

She looked down at her friction-burned palms. _Small price to pay, though I wish I had brought my gloves with me._

Now she was in the library, staring at the mess of papers that were waiting for her. Fenris had gone home, presumably to get more and better sleep - that's what she'd have done, if she were he - and she had headed down to the cramped basement library to assess the situation. She'd told him to come back whenever he liked, so she could set him up with one of the primers she used to teach the kids underfoot to read. He'd frowned at the idea of being taught his letters like a child, but she didn't really know any other way to approach what she considered such a basic subject. _I might have to fix that._

The situation in the library had been dire indeed. _Apparently I'm the only person in Kirkwall who knows how to validate a marriage contract, _she thought as she stared down a finalized pile of work that was almost as tall as her. _This is going to be a while._

She had been at the task for a few hours when Seb walked down the stairs, knocking on the wooden door. She put one of the piles she was lifting down and rushed up to him for a great hug.

"I hear you had a bit of an adventure on the way home," he said as he released her, clapping her on the back as he did so.

"Oh, like you wouldn't believe. But I have to say, you chose very well in picking my escort. Maybe a little too well. Did you have ulterior motives, Seb?"

"No," he said, looking up to the ceiling in feigned innocence. "I merely thought it would be nice to share a trip with someone with whom you might have something in common." _More than you know, _thought Althaea. He sat casually on the desk and fiddled with the inkwell, placing a sack of coin in front of her. "I take it the trip wasn't a total loss, then."

"No, not a total loss." She sat at the desk next to him, took her salary, and smiled coyly. "I hope you reimbursed Fenris for the coin that was taken...?"

"I did, make no mistake about it," said Seb. "He told me about your detour on the way home...unfortunate turn of events, that. I take it his performance was satisfactory, then?"

"He is a warrior of prodigious skill, and also a gentleman of discretion. And...a friend, now, as well." She steepled her fingers in front of her, and became serious. "But enough of that. We need to talk, Seb."

Concern crossed his face. "What about?"

She lowered her voice and looked around, hoping they were the only people within earshot. "Not here. Can you come to my place tomorrow?"

He stayed silent, frowning. Althaea raised her eyebrows. "I'll make you dinner...?"

The frown was replaced by a smile. "No bribes are necessary, but I'll never turn_ that_ down, especially given Ellie's recent penchant for salt." He was referring to the Chantry sister in charge of the cooking.

"Good," said Althaea. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have about six weeks' worth of bureaucratic nonsense to wade through and sort out."

"Say no more," said Sebastian, giving Althaea a hug and turning to leave. "I'll leave you to it."

* * *

The vhenadahl loomed over the alienage, catching the morning sun.

Althaea had continued to work hours after her conversation with Sebastian, making little progress and finally giving up. She was just too tired. She had trudged home, eaten a couple of little meat pies, and then collapsed into bed.

She had left the book with Merrill, promising that she'd come to see her in the next couple of days. Since she was already sick of looking at the pile of work ahead of her and would have to make dinner for Seb's little bribe, she'd decided to take the day off. _Not the best way to get the process started, but after everything they put me through, the Chantry owes me a few days off._ So, in the morning, she had washed, dressed, eaten a bowl of oat porridge with honey and tea, and had ventured to the alienage to pay the Dalish girl a visit.

_I'd make it down here more often if I didn't get such stares every time I passed through the gates._ Dozens of pairs of eyes gawked as she descended the stairs in emotions ranging from suspicion to curiosity. She ventured in the direction of one of the market stands, staffed by a young boy and what looked to be his mother.

"Can I help you, serah?" the woman asked as Althaea grabbed an apple, inspecting it. _Seconds from Lowtown markets, but at least it's wholesome._

"I'm looking for a woman, name of Merrill. I was told she lives here. How much for this?"

"Three coppers, serah." She pointed her finger in the direction of Merrill's home, indicating a plain door nestled in a nook. "That one in the corner is hers."

Althaea plunked a silver piece down on the stand, thanked the woman for her help, and headed in that direction, ignoring the woman's call to get her change.

She had to knock on the door a couple of times before Merrill answered the door, rumpled, bleary-eyed, and obviously just having been woken up. Althaea put her hand in front of her mouth, embarrassed that she'd come far too early in the morning.

"Aneth ara, Althaea. My, but it's early!"

"I am so sorry, Merrill," she said, thrusting a thumb back from whence she came. "I can come back later -"

"No, no need. Just give me a few minutes to wake up. Can I get you something to drink? I have water, and a bit of tea..." She gestured toward a seat, but as she pottered around in the second room, getting dressed, Althaea found herself drawn to the large mirror standing in the corner. The pieces of the glass were arranged carefully on the backing, but some were missing.

Althaea stared at it a long while, hovering her fingers over the intricate carvings. She fancied she heard a voice, whispering from deep inside it...if she just leaned in a little closer, she might be able to make out the words...

"I'll thank you kindly if you don't touch that," said a voice from behind her, one that was much more real. Althaea jerked out of her trance and took a few long steps away from the thing with great shuddering breaths. She backed into a chair and fell into it, catching her breath.

_She holds congress with demons and wields blood magic if it were a child's plaything. _"Merrill...what_ is_ that?"

"It's an _eluvian_. An artifact of old Arlathan," said Merrill, peering down to Althaea's level with an appraising look in her eyes. "It was broken a few years back, at the beginning of the Blight, and I've been putting it back together ever since. Are you well? What happened?"

Althaea, recovered some, nodded tersely. "I... I heard whispers coming from it, I couldn't understand them..." she reached for the tumbler of water in front of her, and took a drink. "That is...that's a very, very dangerous thing. You'd do well to be rid of it."

"It's a Keeper's job to remember, even the dangerous things," she said. "There is much we can learn from studying it, if it can be fixed."

Althaea turned away from the mirror. Its siren call shut up, and she was able to think clearly again. She took another white-knuckled drink of water.

"You said you heard whispers from it?" Merrill asked, as conversationally as if they were discussing the weather. "That's odd, I've never heard of that, though perhaps someone did hear them and didn't tell me...oh, I'm blathering, aren't I."

Althaea shook her head. She'd find out what she needed to know, hand the book over, and have done with it, never to set foot in here again. _Though I walk the edge of the Void, I shall fear no evil, for the Maker is with me...what have I gotten myself into?_ She changed subjects as quickly as she could. "Did you get a chance to read the book, Merrill?"

Merrill fetched the book from the far corner of the table. "Yes. The clan this book came from has been lost for several years now, they didn't make it to the last _arlathven_ and we feared the worst. This is a very important book, Althaea. Where did you get it?"

"I was afraid you'd ask that." She very carefully told her of the Dalish man she'd encountered in the alienage in Val Royeaux, and his demise. Merrill's eyes filled with tears as she drew the tale to a close. She muttered what sounded like a prayer in the elven tongue, and Althaea recognized some of the words as coming from the song he had taught her.

"You did right by him, but it should have been one of his own to put him to rest."

"I didn't even know his name," said Althaea sadly. "The entire time, I felt as if I were in a waking dream."

"Well, it's written right here," Merrill said in a more chipper voice, thumbing through the pages. "His name was Luka."

"Luka," Althaea repeated. "That's an Antivan name."

"It's possible he came from the city to build a better life. Our clan took in a few city elves, it's not uncommon. Did he have _vallaslin_? These facial tattoos?" She pointed at her own.

"He did, yes."

"Well then, he might have come as a child, you get them as a mark of adulthood. In any case, it's all here." She tried handing the book back to Althaea.

"I can't read it," she said, refusing the return. "But he told me to give it to the first Dalish elf I saw. He said it as if his life depended on me completing the task, so you should keep it."

Merrill frowned, looking away. "I'm afraid I might be about as welcome among the Dalish as you are, after what I've started. You should take it to Marethari - she's the Keeper of my clan. They're up on Sundermount."

"You would take me there?"

Merrill sighed. "I don't believe I can do that, not by myself. The way is a little dangerous, and I...I don't think I can bear to see them again, not after Pol..." she came to a halt. "You should ask Fenris to take you. He knows the way, he was there."

_Maker preserve me, I'm in too deep._ "I was under the impression he wasn't too fond of the Dalish, or that perhaps they weren't too fond of him. Are you sure you can't take me? I'd hate to find myself caught in a...misunderstanding..."

Merrill seemed to consider that a moment, pursing her lips. "I'll go, but only if Hawke comes too. He and the Keeper seem to have an agreement, and the others...well, the others respect him." She closed the book, resting her hands on it. "I can see it's important to you. Ask Hawke for his help. He likes helping."

Althaea nodded, thanked Merrill, and rose to leave, taking one last nervous look at the _eluvian_ as she did.

* * *

It was before noon when she left and she would need to get eggs, cream, and cheese for Seb's pie anyway, so she turned her steps toward Hightown. The dairy and eggs were of much higher quality there, and perhaps she could call on Hawke before she lost her nerve.

Instead of taking the stairs, though, she bribed a porter to give her a ride up the bluff in one of the dwarven baskets normally reserved for cargo. It was a much quicker ride than it would have been if the basket were loaded down, and she stepped off to the surprised look of the porter on top, who shook his head and let her past.

She wasn't sure where Hawke lived, so she stopped a nearby guard to ask. No one she knew, but helpful all the same. She knocked on the great wooden door after identifying it by the coats of arms that hung outside.

She was greeted by a rather downtrodden looking elf, and she did a double take at her accent. _Tevinter. I'm up to my eyes in Tevinters, it would seem. _The girl – is she _a slave, or a servant? Fenris would never suffer Hawke if he were a slave-owner _- took Althaea's shawl and instructed her to wait in the drawing room, offering her a seat. A mabari hound came into the room and inspected her, whuffling softly and sniffing at her dress.

"Hello," she said to the hound, which sat and cocked his head, wagging his tail once. "You're not a mean dog, are you?"

In response, the hound rolled on his back and wiggled a bit. Althaea remembered that mabari war hounds were steadfastly loyal to their companions and capable of understanding people, far more so than ordinary dogs. All the same, she wouldn't try to pet the beast until it was certain she was welcome here.

"I'm afraid I don't have any treats," she said somberly to the hound. He walked away dejectedly and took a place in front of the hearth, putting his head down.

"Fancy seeing you here," said Anders from the stairs, coming down. He wasn't exactly the first person she was hoping to see.

"Yes, I had to ask Hawke for a favor, but I can see now's as good a time as any to try and smooth things over with you, as well." _I can tell there's no love lost between him and Fenris, and he's assuming that prejudice will come from me, as well. Just...talk to him as you'd talk to anyone else, Althaea. You'll win him over. Maybe._

"Smooth away," he said, crossing his arms expectantly.

_Count to ten._ She took a deep breath. "Anders, I can tell you and Fenris aren't exactly the best of friends -"

"Oh, is it that obvious?"

"-but I'm not him, so maybe you can give me a blank slate?"

"What, and suffer the presence of another member of the 'I Hate Anders' club? I think not." Hawke was coming down the stairs now, wondering at the source of the raised voices downstairs.

"Anders, I don't hate you. I don't even _know _you. What is your problem? I came here to apologize!" Hawke drew up next to him, but said nothing. Flustered for once, she blurted, "I would have explained everything right then, but 'my father killed my lover in a blood magic ritual, then sold me into slavery' is not the kind of thing you just come out and say at a _tavern_!" She clapped a hand to her mouth in the sudden realization that she'd just outed herself. _Dear Maker, when I say 'Andraste, guide my tongue', that is __**not**__ what I mean! _She could feel the blood rising to her face.

"Wait, you _what_?"

"Oh...this isn't _about_ that!" She sighed. "Listen, Anders. Fenris hates mages, but I know it's _magisters_ that sent me to my fate. So please, just...pretend you didn't hear that, and put everything else aside for now. I may be Chantry, and Fenris's friend as well, but their prejudices are not mine."

"I just keep going back to the part where you said you were a slave," said Anders, a little embarrassed-looking.

"I'm pitiful enough without that detail, will you _please_ just put it down?"

"That's a pretty big piece missing, dove." It was Hawke that spoke now. Althaea squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her fingers to her temple. Fenris had convinced her to tell Seb about her time with Septimus, the better to move on, but she didn't think _everyone _had to know about it.

"Yes, well, you'll forgive me if I keep some things to myself. It was a very bad time in my life and it's over now." She changed subjects. "I had a favor to ask of you, Hawke. I was entrusted with a book in Val Royeaux, and Merrill told me I ought to take it to the Keeper...but she won't take me if you don't go with her."

"And you'll spend time with the blood mage...?" Anders asked, apparently completely baffled.

"Penance makes strange bedfellows, Anders, and believe me when I say that eldritch mirror of hers makes me _very_ nervous." She shuddered at the memory of the voices in the mirror. "But aside from the ones that would have killed us just as soon as looked at us, she's the only other Dalish elf I've ever met and the person who gave me the book was adamant it find its way back into Dalish hands."

Hawke and Anders exchanged glances. Althaea wondered what they were saying to each other with the look and stood waiting, rather awkwardly. This had all gone much farther than she was comfortable with. Her father's voice rung in her head, one of the maxims he'd drilled into her: _A promise kept is a powerful magic. Oh, _adda_, _she thought, _you set me on this path at the same time as you gave me the means to walk it._

"The way can be dangerous sometimes, but it's a day trip," said Hawke, finally. "Do you fight well?"

She kicked the floor a little bashfully. "I'm a solid archer, but other than that I'm afraid I just do what I do best, which is to 'run and hide'."

"Then, do you hide well?" Anders couldn't conceal his amusement at his lover's question. _Let them think me pathetic, _she thought. _I know where my strengths lie._

"Like a wraith in shadows. I couldn't have made it all the way here without it." She straightened up a bit with pride.

"We'll make a proper rogue out of you yet," said Hawke with a good-natured pat on her shoulder. The man was giant, half a head taller even then Fenris and at least fifty pounds heavier, and Althaea felt dwarfed in comparison. She couldn't imagine him wielding anything but a sword, and a big one at that.

"You'll forgive me for saying I don't want to be anything but an archivist," she said.

"Fair enough!" he said, laughing and causing Althaea to sigh in relief. "I'm feeling charitable. I'll take you, but it might be a few days before I get a chance. Are you coming to Wicked Grace next week?"

She hadn't thought about that. "Am I invited?"

"Any friend of Fenris is a friend of mine, so I'd venture to say 'yes'. I trust you'll maintain a level of...discretion regarding my apostate friends?"

She replied to Hawke, but smiled at Anders. "I do all tasks that are considered the Maker's work. I'm hard pressed to argue that healing the sick isn't one of them, even if the mage doing the healing is an apostate. So, yes, I will keep his secrets."

"And Merrill?"

"I'll watch her carefully, but I respect your authority in matters of her regard." She sketched a curtsey.

"Then, yes, you're welcome to come. We'll speak more of it then," he said. She allowed herself to be shown out.

_Thrown to chaos,_ she thought as she bought the ingredients for her pies. _Thrown to chaos and I'll have to fight or die. I wish I'd never worked on those scrolls!_

* * *

Althaea had gone a bit overboard in her cooking; she had made several days' worth of meat pies in addition to the fish-and-egg concoction she knew Seb loved. She figured she'd be cloistered in the basement library for a few days, just trying to sort everything out, and would neither have the time or desire to cook. She was always welcome to take meals with the Chantry sisters, being affirmed in the service of the Maker herself, but if Ellie had as become heavy-handed with the salt as Seb said, she would rather go hungry than eat the cantankerous old woman's cooking.

It was late in the evening, but the summer sun was still out. She'd come home from Hightown and had gotten to work on the pies, people watching from her window as she waited for them to cook in the hearth. She wondered what Fenris was up to - hopefully he hadn't dropped by the chantry for a visit - and wondered when she might see him again next. They'd parted somewhat awkwardly and she hoped it wouldn't stop him from coming by, not when they'd made so much progress.

The pies were nearly cool and she was sitting at the table reading when there was a light knock on her door. She opened it just a little before smiling and throwing it open.

"Thank you for coming over," she said as she gestured him inside.

Seb walked across the threshold and had a look around. "You've cleaned up a bit, I see!"

"A bit...I didn't want Fenris to get the wrong first impression."

"They do say that most of the world's great minds are terrible housekeepers." He sat down on the open chair at the table.

"I wouldn't call myself a great mind, just a disorganized one." She poured out two tumblers of wine and laid a couple slices of pie on plates.

"Fish-and-egg," said Sebastian with relish, then looked at her with suspicion. "Wait. You only make this when you are about to trot out something particularly distressing."

"You know me too well," she said, sitting across from him at the small table. "I don't remember what it was last time."

"I believe it was the last time you tried to convince me to retake Starkhaven." He took a delicate bite of the pie.

"Ah...yes. That didn't go over very well, did it?"

Seb took care to swallow his food before answering. "No, it didn't." He took a sip of the wine. "Thus, you may as well just out and say it. What did you want to talk to me about, Althaea?"

"How much do you know about the Divine, Seb?"

He cleared his throat. "I've never met her, but I've heard that she is a shrewd woman, and exceptionally bold to boot. Did you get that impression from her, when you met?"

"Yes, all that and more, which is what I wanted to talk to you about. Seb, I'm afraid I haven't been entirely forthcoming in telling you about my past."

"Althaea, keep bringing news like this with the pie and I'll never come over for dinner again."

She sighed and took a large swig of the wine. She'd already unwittingly outed herself to Hawke and the apostate, so why was this so difficult to do with Seb? He was like a brother to her. She could tell him everything, and frequently _did._ Everything but this, apparently.

"Well, you know most of it, you know about what my father did to Marius, but I never told you how long it was between then and when we met."

He finished his pie and poured out another tumbler of wine, waiting for the the rest.

"After what happened, my father told me that if I loved Marius so much, I should be made to live his life...then he packed me up and shipped me to a rival of his in Marnus Pell."

"As a...wife?" Sebastian still wasn't getting it.

"As a slave. For five years."

He put down the tumbler and stared at her across the table. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat waiting for his response.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered, face lined with concern.

"I don't know," she choked out from behind the beginning of a sob. "I was embarrassed, I didn't want anyone to know I had been used, not that way - I didn't trust you, and by the time I did all I wanted to do was forget, and move on, and then I met Fenris and the Divine, Seb, she knows everything, I don't know how -" she devolved into racking sobs, the kind which she was unable to squeeze any words out from behind.

Seb got up in a rush and scooped her up in his arms, leading her to the bed that doubled as a couch. She cried and cried against his chest, waiting for his judgement to fall.

But all he said was, "A lot of things are clearer now, that's for sure." She chuckled despite herself and sat up, wiping her eyes with his proffered handkerchief.

Althaea drew her legs up and sat cross-legged next to him, resting her chin in her hands. "She knew all of it, right down to my daily duties, and the circumstances of my disappearance, like she'd been...researching it. Then she told me my father had been selected for the High Senate, and assured me that he doesn't know I'm still alive, and that she'd hate for that to change."

Seb's face contracted into a thoughtful frown. "It was a threat."

"How am I to feel about this, Seb?" she asked. "I escaped a life of slavery only to be bound again, this time by the truth of things! I've dreamed...terrible nightmares, almost every night since I met with her, and that's to say nothing of the night I had in the alienage...I wanted to confess it to you..."

"What happened there?"

"There was a man, Dalish. We found ourselves there during our revelry, and he was about to take his own life, and I...I helped him do it. I'm a slave, and a murderer, too, Seb, and I wish I had never gone to that thrice-damned city!"

"Althaea, you know as well as I that it is a sin against the Maker to take your own life. What made you do such a thing?"

"You didn't see his eyes." she grabbed the bottle of wine and rearranged herself so she could lean against the wall the bed was laid against. Seb took the opportunity to do the same.

Althaea sighed and collected her thoughts as she sat comfortably a few feet away from him. They'd come a long way from the traditional confessional, but she didn't feel comfortable talking about such things with wandering ears nearby, even despite the right of confessional privilege the Chantry afforded. It had been years since she'd let anyone but Seb hear her confession, and that wasn't likely to change any time soon.

"We took everything away from him," she said. "Templars killed his entire clan when they tried to take his Keeper to the Circle. He was broken, broken beyond repair, and my heart...I don't know how to explain it. There is no dignity in the noose, and I wanted to ease his path. I couldn't speak to him of the Maker, Seb, because the agents of His will were the ones who led him to his fate. I just...I think about that, and wonder how the murder of that many innocents could be part of the Maker's plan."

"Only the Maker knows His plan, Althaea. Each of us is only one thread in His great tapestry. We are but men, and flawed, but a Templar should know better than to take so many innocent lives in the claiming of one apostate."

He leaned back against the wall. "It's clear your faith is shaken, Althaea. But I'm urging you...no, _begging_ you to put your trust in the Maker, even if you cannot trust the Chantry."

"Seb...do you think...perhaps, the Maker put me into that man's fate so that I'd question these things?"

"Someone has to ask the hard questions, Althaea. It is the only way we grow. It may be that the Maker intends for you to be the one doing the asking. Trust that He will not set you on a path He has not given you the strength to walk, and you will be fine, of that I can assure you."

"I should make penance for my act," she said.

"Yes, you should." He squeezed her hand affectionately.

"He gave me a book, and asked that I return it to the first Dalish clan I see. I spoke to Merrill about it -"

"The maleficar?"

"Yes, she's the only Dalish elf _I _know of -"

"I never cease to wonder at the Maker's mysterious ways."

"In any case, she told me I should journey to Sundermount and return the book to her clan, and lay his memory to rest in the way of her people. Do you...do you think the Maker would look favorably on that as a penance?"

"I can only guess, but it seems appropriate to me." He smiled at her, the one that could melt butter, and she sighed, feeling much better about everything._ Perhaps I'll rest peacefully tonight._ "Remember that the Maker speaks to us in our hearts, Althaea. Placing your trust in _it_ places your trust in _Him._"

He got up to leave. "As for the Divine, I wish I could tell you what to do. It may be the Maker's way of forcing you to embrace your past, rather than running from it. Her threat would have little power if you made no effort to hide what she means to uncover."

"You mean to say I should let word of my existence reach my _father?_"

"You have safety among us now, Althaea, and I swear to the Maker that I would not let him take you. Perhaps it's time to reclaim your old name and have done with it." Althaea wasn't sure she could make that jump, so soon after revealing her time in servitude in the first place. _No, _she thought. _I'll continue to be Serra. I'm not ready to be Demitridis again, not yet._

"Pray with me, Althaea," he said as he took another couple of steps toward the door. She nodded, and grasped his hands, closing her eyes and repeating the familiar words of the Chant, the ones she was taught to embrace: _'though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide; I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's light, and nothing He has wrought shall be lost.'_ He patted her hand comfortingly as he let her go.

She sent him home with the remainder of the pie, and sat in her windowsill for a long while, emptying the bottle she'd opened and looking out at the stars she could see from her vantage point. She thought of Luka, and wondered at what he might think of all this, before nodding off in the crook of her perch.


	10. Kirkwall Interlude II

**A/N: **Back to the Fenris POV!

Thanks again to **Kukapetal** who was kind enough to beta the first half of this chapter and to **GirlyGeek **who's always willing to listen to my harebrained schemes.

It's really funny how your characters start to evolve around you, sometimes without notice. It's a good thing I don't write too much ahead. In any case, I did really enjoy writing (most) of this chapter.

**CHAPTER TEN**

**KIRKWALL INTERLUDE II: THE HORSE AND THE HART**

It was early afternoon the day before the weekly gathering when Fenris finally decided to give Althaea a visit as she had asked.

When they'd seen each other last, she'd extended her offer to teach him his letters again, using the primers she taught children with, and he'd been more than a little nettled by the proposal of that methodology. She'd been hurt by his brusque refusal of that offer, and the look she'd had on her face had crossed his mind a few times in the interim between then and now.

How she managed to make him feel guilty without even trying was beyond him. He found himself remembering how she'd cried in Val Royeaux and imagined how badly he'd felt then, even; those kind of tears would undo him for sure, if she ever directed them toward him.

He doubted, or even hoped, perhaps, that it would never happen. Even though she was far more demonstrative than any Tevinter women he'd encountered, she'd been reared highborn, and the women he knew of the upper castes there were conditioned to a bearing of dignity and feigned happiness, whatever the insult. What he'd seen in Val Royeaux would certainly be rare, if not unique, for her.

The fact remained that he seemed to see through those affectations with little trouble, and he was beginning to realize that he'd never corrected Varric's semantics because he was half-hoping the dwarf was right.

He could just imagine what Varric would have to say about the situation. "_Big Bad Broody, taken down by the little scholar."_ Or even Merrill, he thought, as he shuddered a bit: "_Oh, Fenris, you're smitten! It's adorable!"_

He rolled his eyes at the thought, then pushed open the gilt doors of the Kirkwall chantry.

One of the sisters greeted him as he reached the larger-than-life statue of Andraste in the main vestibule and asked if she could help.

"I'm looking for Althaea," he said uncertainly. How many of the sisters here did she know? He knew she was well-acquainted with Sebastian, and figured she might well know most of them, but didn't want to make assumptions.

The sister glowed with a knowing smile. _Of course, _he thought. _It's been nearly a week since she came back to work, and women talk. _"She's cloistered herself in the basement archive and hasn't come out except to eat and sleep." the sister said. "To your right and down the stairs. Maybe you can talk some sense into her." She bustled off.

He felt a little awkward crossing the rope blocking public access to the stairwell, but stepped over it and continued down what seemed like several flights. The archive in the lower level was cramped, but truly a sight to behold; it was packed full with shelves of books rising to a ceiling nearly twelve feet tall. He walked through the stacks, marveling, until he found her sitting at a desk, transcribing some piece of paper or another. She looked clean, if a little rumpled; it looked as if she'd been down here almost exclusively for the past four days.

Fenris always had a strange reverence for the written word despite being almost completely illiterate. He admired the way letters looked on paper or boards, how they could be curly, straight, or anything in between as long as they were legible. Watching Althaea read and write while in Val Royeaux had been like watching a bit of magic unfold, and right now he watched for longer than he should have until she finally looked up.

She gasped and nearly knocked the inkwell over, then came to herself and smiled, getting up to embrace him. Her scent, the surprisingly delicate Orlesian concoction, wafted up from her, and he suppressed the urge to take a deep breath of it. _Smitten is the right word,_ he thought, to no small degree of despair.

"Fenris. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It's been a little while, and I haven't seen you about." He also found that he was missing what had been her almost constant presence, and a little annoyed that she hadn't come to see him, but he neglected to mention those things.

"I've been down here, catching up. Six weeks' worth of work, and apparently I'm the only person in Kirkwall who knows how to do some of it. Really rather pathetic, if I do say so myself."

"It sounds like you could use a break," he said hopefully.

She murmured her agreement. "You're right, I really could." She sat back down at the desk. "Did you come for a lesson?"

He hadn't been, but he hadn't expected her to offer again so soon after his brisk refusal a few days ago. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, and cleared his throat. "I thought you might be loath to give one after...after I refused you. I believe I owe you an apology."

She clasped her hands together, leaning back against the chair in a rather pensive stance. "I thought about it, and you were right. It'd be degrading if I were to do it that way, but it seemed the best way to start, at the time." She smiled and gestured at the seat across the desk from her, unceremoniously shoved her work to either side, and brought a small slate and a hunk of chalk out from one of the desk drawers. "So, I thought maybe I'd give you this, instead."

She seemed rather proud of herself, but Fenris was confused. "What is this for?"

"You can't read without learning how to write, as well. The two are intertwined. We don't have to start today, if you don't want to, though."

Fenris found that he actually _did_ want to. "It's fine."

She grinned. "How much do you know? I mean, I suppose you know a few things, like maybe names of cities or the sign of an inn and such?"

"A little of that, yes. When we were in Orlais I recognized some things, while you were taking notes."

"Can you sign your name?"

He'd never had to, and went bright red as he said, "No."

"We could start with that." She took the chalk to the slate, and wrote what he assumed was his name in large block letters, nothing like the script she used on the certificate she had been endorsing or the print she'd used on journal entries she'd written in Val Royeaux. She handed the slate and the chalk to him and made to move around the desk to watch, but thought better of it and bustled about the stacks instead.

As he struggled to mimic the letters on the slate, he tried to push away a feeling of ineptitude he was rather unfamiliar with. How could he, a warrior of such a high caliber, and a vocabulary that put him on par with most of the highborn of Kirkwall, have to learn something so basic, so _stupid_? He put the slate down, three-quarters of the way through his task, and sighed.

Sensing trouble, Althaea turned toward him and knelt to bring herself to his eye level. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yes, nothing to be ashamed of," he sneered, backing up off the chair. "Let's play 'teach the poor slave to read'! I'm sure you're enjoying yourself!" Then he realized what he was doing and stopped. He'd done it again.

He sat down and buried his face in one of his hands, and thought he had seen her eyes moisten up as she stood and took her place across from him at the desk. "It seems I owe you an apology...again. You are not responsible for any of this."

She crossed her arms as she leaned back against her chair. "If it helps, you're welcome to teach me something I'd be complete rubbish at." _Always trying to turn the situation for the better, _he thought. _Just when I think I understand her, I don't._ "For example, I bet I couldn't even lift that sword of yours," she said with a chuckle.

He couldn't help but do the same as he imagined her trying to wield anything larger than a shortsword. "I bet you're right," he admitted. He turned his eyes toward the slate. In that moment, it seemed a more powerful enemy than anything he'd ever faced. "How do you intend to teach me?"

"Well...your name was going to be the start, but only because it's the most powerful thing you own." She put her chin in her hand, staring him down with a patient sort of interest. He couldn't meet her eyes.

"Would you believe me if I told you that wasn't actually my name?"

"I figured as much. Septimus never called me 'Amalthaea', and I figured Danarius would have done the same. The important question though is whether you consider it yours."

"It's the only name I've ever known, so I suppose it's as much mine as anything else."

"If you ever found your real name, would you use it?"

He frowned a little. "I don't know."

"Well then, if you're Fenris, you're Fenris," she said simply. "Knowing how to write it down is a way for you to truly own it." He hated it when she said things like this, things that shouldn't make sense but did, and he said so.

She laughed a little. "I'll take that as a compliment." She had him repeat his name on the slate until he could write it without the reference, working on her own task as he did.

"I figured that's all we'd do today, but you're welcome to keep me company for as long as you like," she said as he put the slate down again, but this time with a feeling of satisfaction. "You can wander the stacks and pull out anything that looks appealing."

He did that for a little while, seeing as he'd never had the luxury of wandering around a library. The smell of it was interesting, a musty tang mixed with paper and leather, and he found it strangely appealing. Most of these books were likely older than him, older than Althaea, and probably as old as the chantry itself, preserved from the time of the Imperial ownership of Kirkwall. He pulled a couple of the more interesting looking tomes out, two of the oldest, it seemed, and brought them to the desk. The dust that came off them made Althaea sneeze.

"What are these?" he asked, after he laughed at the petite sneeze.

She frowned at him a little, then turned to the book. "This one is..." she wiped the cover to see it - "a treatise on mathematics." She opened it a crack, letting the pages flutter. "Not very many words here, I'm afraid."

"I understand numbers." Words he'd never learned, but at some point he'd learned more than just his sums, even comprehending the complex accounting that one of Danarius's house servants used to keep his old master's books. He never could understand how he'd remembered that, but very little else.

"I don't," she said with a bit of embarrassment. "Other than the basics, really." She turned toward the other book. "And this one is..." she let out an awed breath, thumbing through the pages with a look of disbelief on her face. "It's been years since I've seen this. I had one, just like it, in Solas..."

"Well, what is it?"

"It's a book of fables. Little stories, short and easy...usually with some sort of moral or meaning." Her eyes lit up. "We can't use this, not yet, but I want to keep it for now."

Fenris figured now was as good a time as any to ask what he'd meant to ask when he'd come here in the first place. "If you like, you can take it to my study, and you can read me some of them, after...dinner. Perhaps. If you like." _Smooth, _he thought as he ended lamely.

"I'd love a chance to relax, that's for certain. What will you make?" That was the part he was worried about. He had been a bodyguard, not a scullery boy, after all.

"I hadn't actually thought about it. I'm not much of a cook."

She smirked. "I'm assuming this is the part where you ask me out to dinner, then ask me to cook it."

"That's a little offensive, isn't it?" asked Fenris. "But, I suppose if you like, I can serve us bread, cheese, and a couple of roasted hens." He wasn't completely useless in the kitchen; he was capable of that much at least.

She giggled, presumably at his matter-of-fact delivery, and smiled. "I'll cook, but only if you bring one of the good wines up from the cellar."

That much he could handle. "I can do better than that - I can bring up two."

As they ascended the stairs from the library, Fenris had a thought. "You said Septimus never called you 'Amalthaea'. What _did _he call you?"

"His wife named me 'Tariseta'," she said, then smirked. "I'm proud to say it was accurate for quite some time."

He hugged the book of fables a little tighter, if only to resist the urge to hold her hand. He had been Danarius's _little wolf, _but to Septimus's wife, Althaea had been a _rebellious little thing._

* * *

One of the perks of having a companion of the human persuasion, Fenris mused, was the ability to go places others of your race couldn't or wouldn't. This was especially true with Althaea, who carried herself with a Hightown demeanor and could have fooled any of the Kirkwall gentry doing it.

They were walking about the Hightown market, gathering ingredients for their meal. Fenris noted that of all the stalls they'd visited thus far, not one of the merchants had taken issue with her custom, even the ones who refused him on a regular basis. Earlier, he'd tried to pay for the hens they'd bought, but she'd flatly refused the help. It wasn't until he had offered three different times that she'd finally agreed to split dinner down the middle.

Next time it would be on his coin, though. He wouldn't let her refuse him again.

He watched and followed as she moved from stall to stall, hunting down the items she wanted from some invisible list in her head. The grace of her movements never ceased to impress him, and for a second he wondered if he would ever see her dance.

His next thought was that if he ever met Septimus in a dark alley, only one of them would come out alive. Because of him, he felt like he'd never be able to ask for many things, a demonstration of that skill being the least of them. His eyes drifted to her shoulder, where the edge of her brand just peeked out from the wide-shouldered dress. If she'd just make another advance on him, he might know for sure; but until then, he'd settle for whatever he could get. _The brand may as well be a warding glyph_, he thought with a sigh.

Except for that night in the forest, she hadn't given him any indication that she wanted more than his friendship. No, that wasn't entirely true. The night in the tower, she'd nestled up to him and had even fallen asleep, but he'd interpreted those touches as soothing, rather than sensual. Perhaps he'd have to re-evaluate.

She was beginning to look uncomfortable with her load, so he traded the book for the evening's shopping: a couple of small hens, cheeses, bread and an assortment of hearty vegetables and fruits were in the basket. So, it was to be hens after all, but it looked to be a bake rather than a roast. The mansion had a rather nice oven; even he could tell that much with as little experience as he had.

Satisfied with her take, she had him lead her home, where she went digging through the various cupboards until she found everything she'd need for the job. He helped with the preparations as much as he could, fetching water and wood as well as starting the fire in the oven. Once she asked him to reach up into a high cabinet for a cast-iron pot, despite the presence of a wooden step-stool; when he gave her an incredulous look, she simply shrugged and looked up toward the ceiling in feigned innocence.

All in all, it wasn't long before the pot was in the oven. The smell of it was better than anything he'd managed to create with similar ingredients, and he was glad she'd deigned to cook tonight.

She procured an hourglass - _where does she dig these things up? - _and went to the garden, where the sun was just beginning to set.

"It really is quite beautiful in here," she said as she sat on one of the stone benches surrounding the pool, tucking her feet under her legs and arranging her skirts. "See those little purple flowers in that corner? Those are heliotrope."

"That perfume you bought in Val Royeaux."

"The very same. It was so expensive because it's incredibly hard for the flowers to release their scent, but in my opinion it was worth it."

"You said your mother used to wear it."

"She did," said Althaea. "I remember she used to put it on before parties, and I'd play hide-and-seek in her skirts until she had to call my nursemaid to take me away."

"Is that why you like to wear it?"

"Because of my mother? No. In fact, she was rather distant - Cora, Marius's mother, was who I called _mamae._ I like to wear it because the smell reminds me of home."

A very distant part of him recalled saying those words - _mamae, adda _- in a childish voice. He strove to catch the memory, but it evaporated as he reached for it.

"You miss her." He missed his _mamae_, perhaps even more so, since he couldn't even recall her face.

"Every day. I keep wondering how things might have turned out differently if I had the mettle to go and find her, bring her here. We'd be a family again, and I think Kirkwall might finally feel like a home."

Fenris thought of something. "I think if you asked Varric, he could put out some quiet inquiries. He seems to know everyone worth knowing."

"I'm not sure I could bear the thought of owing another one of your friends a favor. Oh!" She leaned forward a little bit. "Speaking of which, Hawke is going to take me to the Dalish clan Merrill belongs to."

He figured she'd just stop at handing the book over to Merrill, and stated his confusion. She looked a little uncomfortable, rearranging herself. "I talked to her a few days ago. She said the book was very important, and that I should bring it to her clan. She said Luka's clan was missing at the last...'arlathven'? Do you know what that is, Fenris?"

He was familiar with the term, as well as Merrill's incredible ability to forget she was talking to humans. "It's a sort of gathering of all the Dalish clans, that happens every ten years. If his clan was missing at the last one, they probably figured it had been lost."

The thought clearly troubled her. "I keep coming back to the memory of him."

"You know his name now, at least."

"Yes. Merrill thought that I should take the book to her Keeper and lay his memory to rest. I talked to Seb about it, and he thinks it would be an appropriate penance for my act..."

Fenris still wasn't sure how he felt about that night. The man - _Luka, I suppose he has a name now, thanks to Merrill _- had clearly suffered long, but the fact that Althaea would offer him succor in the form of an easy way out... that had bothered him. She hadn't even tried to help him piece things through, or argue that there might have been a way out other than the noose. She had just accepted his fate the way a mired horse would, giving up and letting the mud drown him.

That she'd had the poison in her bodice bothered him. That she'd had the will to use it on herself if she were captured...that horrified him. He saw it as a sort of parallel to Luka's life. She'd gathered enough sense of self-preservation to escape her bonds and make her way to the shelter of the south, but after that, she'd simply...stopped fighting. She'd put on that smiling mask and pretended that all was well for years; now that her safety was starting to crumble around her, she was coming undone.

He wondered if their convergence was more than just coincidence. He'd been through this already, years ago. He still had a ways to go, but perhaps with a nudge or two from his direction, she'd come out mostly intact. He was still darning up the pieces of his own broken life, but perhaps they might _both_ be a little stronger for it if they held on together.

There was a thought. He'd never thought he needed anyone, or wanted anyone. Then, life had seen fit to throw Hawke in his path, and the Fereldan had paved the way, his bluff sort of patience knocking the edge off Fenris's rage and hate. Years later, Fenris had met Althaea, and it seemed as if she needed him as much now as he'd needed Hawke, then, but in reverse; she needed to regain her will to fight, not learn how to stop fighting everything.

He was staring at her, and she had just realized it. He straightened up a little and looked away quickly, but not before he caught her cryptic smile.

"Hawke said he'd take me to Sundermount in a few days," she said.

"I could have taken you." He was a little hurt that she hadn't thought of him first.

"I'm sorry. I just got the impression that you weren't too fond of the Dalish, or perhaps vice versa."

"It's...complicated." He didn't want to explain how smugly superior he'd found all of them, especially Merrill, who was naïve and dangerous to boot. "However, I insist that I accompany you."

"I'm sure that wouldn't be a problem," she said. "Hawke said that we'd talk about it more tomorrow night at Wicked Grace."

"I take it that means you're coming?"

"If you don't mind." She blushed a little.

Of course he didn't. "I enjoy your presence. I don't mind."

They had a look at the hourglass, which was mostly empty. It was twilight now, and she was getting a little hard to see. Fenris stood up and led her back to the kitchen, where she checked on the pot. As she opened the lid, the smell of it wafted in his direction. _Delicious._

"Almost done," she said. "Would you be so kind as to get the wine?"

"Certainly," he said, and headed toward the cellar door.

* * *

Dinner had been as delicious an affair as the smell had promised, and now they both sat, appetites sated, on the sofa Fenris had found in one of the lower rooms and moved into the study. It was parked in front of the fireplace there, though it was too warm a night tonight for it to be in use; Fenris found himself vaguely hoping for winter to make its way to Kirkwall, now that there was the prospect of having someone to spend it with.

Althaea's tiny frame was swallowed up in one of the corners of the enormous sofa, placidly thumbing through the book of fables they'd nicked from the chantry's archive. At some point in the night she'd abandoned her shoes and he was glad he'd taken some time to do a thorough cleaning of the study, including a sweep of the stone floors.

They had made their way through the second bottle of wine not too long ago and he'd gone back down to the cellar for more wine, this time choosing a heady red. This wasn't the best year but neither were they entirely sober at this point, she probably less than he. For a Chantry mouse, she held her wine rather well, but he was better practiced at drinking than he'd like to admit. _New pastimes may replace old habits, _he thought as he watched her eyes scanning rapidly from one edge of the page to the other, wineglass in hand. He had to admit that the peace in everything from her expression to the comfortable way she sat around him was a bit infectious. He fought, then succumbed to the urge to stretch out where he sat, putting his hands behind his head and resting his legs on the small table that stood in front of them.

"Will you read me one?" he finally asked. He was a little worried that she'd forgotten about his presence.

"Is there any one in particular you'd like to hear? A favorite, maybe?"

He couldn't recall hearing any of these in the time he remembered, and said so. He knew she didn't try to, but she often forgot that he had no memory of anything up until perhaps ten or twelve years ago. His first memory had been the haze of agony of his lyrium branding; he'd arisen like some sort of tortured, tragic phoenix, and everything else had been lost.

Her eyes glowed with a bit of sadness, something he once mistook as pity and had hated. He knew better now, even if he often couldn't admit it. She got up from her comfortable corner and moved to his, spreading the book across their laps so he could see the illustrations by the lamplight. "I just found this one. It's called, 'The Horse and the Hart'."

She cleared her throat and read in a slow, authoritative voice, one he'd never quite heard before. "Many years ago, a magnificent horse had a field by a forest, all to himself, until one day a hart trespassed into his pasture. The horse, angry at the intrusion, sought revenge upon the outsider, and asked a farmer if he might get help to punish the hart. "Certainly," said the farmer. "If you but take a bit in your mouth and agree to carry me, and follow my orders, I can bear up a weapon against your trespasser." The horse consented, binding himself to the man. With the farmer's help, the horse drove off the hart, but not before he realized that by getting his revenge, he had enslaved himself, instead. As he bore the farmer to his charge, the horse said, 'liberty was too large a price to pay for revenge'."

He blinked a couple of times, unsure what to say. Had she chosen this one on purpose? Was she trying to teach him yet another lesson? He summoned up all the righteous indignation he could muster, but before he could loose it, she had already moved on to another section of the book, passing various illustrations by. He relaxed. Certainly it had to be a coincidence.

"Oh, this one was one of the ones I remember well," she said, moving a little closer to him as she did. "This one is called 'The Fox in the Forest'. 'A fox, a hare, a squirrel, and a hind lived in their peaceful forest, the best of friends. One day, a human child came into the forest and hunted the Squirrel, taking him in a trap to keep as a pet. Fox watched from his safe place in a thicket, but could not bring himself to defend his friend Squirrel, and thought 'I am safe in my thicket. There is but little I can do'. Some time went by, and Fox's friend the Hare was taken for a farmer's dinner. Still Fox said and did nothing, thinking, 'I am safe in my thicket. There is but little I can do.' When the mayor of a nearby town came to hunt the hind, he almost came to his friend's defense, but could not do so, and thought, 'I am safe in my thicket. There is but little I can do.' Some time later, a powerful Bann roamed through the forest with a magnificent hunting party, with a pack of hundreds of dogs, baying and barking. The fox was flushed out of his thicket and captured for his fur, and thought: 'I fought not for the squirrel, nor the hare, nor the hind; now there are none left to fight for me'."

She closed the book and rested her hands on it with a little frown, and for a moment it looked as if perhaps that fable had hit a little too close to home. She put the book aside and had a long drink of her wine, then she put that down as well, and snuggled up against him as an alternative to the corner of the couch.

"Thank you for dinner tonight," she said.

Fenris was baffled. "You cooked it," he replied.

"Yes, but you helped." She drew her finger absentmindedly across his thigh in little swirls, causing his breath to quicken just a little bit. Her voice dropped down a register. "I never could have reached those upper cabinets without you..."

"There was a step-stool right next to you," he said, somewhat aware that he was probably missing the point.

"I know," she said. "But I like to watch the way you move. It's very...elegant. Very deliberate. Very beautiful." She drew one of his arms out from behind her head and draped it around her shoulder, nestling even deeper into the nook it created. He gulped. He knew what she was doing, this was the sign he'd wanted, please let it be true, he wanted this more than anything - his markings shimmered to life and they weren't the only thing waking up...

She drew herself up and traced a gentle finger along the markings on his chin, just barely brushing his lips. He could feel the power subsiding where she touched and marveled at the way she could cause such quiet in them. He was finding more control in them recently, but they still seemed to activate when he was feeling a particularly strong emotion, as he was now.

"Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?" she asked. She drew her finger up and around the long line of his ear as she asked it, making him quiver.

Fenris could think of a few people, none of whom he would have wanted to hear or believe that compliment from. "Isabela's said it a few times, but she'll bed anything that moves if it strikes her fancy."

"Mmm." She brought her fingers back down, brushing the marks that cascaded up his neck. He wondered how they felt to her; they burned sometimes, like cold fire, but with her hands on him, it was different, less like that and more like a warm tingle. For the first time he found that the sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant. "If these hadn't caused you so much pain, I'd say they were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen." The way she said it, with just a touch of sexy-sweet, made him feel like he'd unravel any second.

"You can call them anything you want," he whispered, trying to match her tone as she brought her questing hand around the swirls on his arm. Her head was still nestled in his chest, and he wondered if she could hear his heart as loudly as he thought it was pounding. "It seems you've found a way to turn them to your advantage, as I have."

She shifted around until she could kiss him in the junction between his neck and shoulders, causing him to take a sharp breath.

She stopped. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No." It felt so good, in fact, that he had to squeeze the word out from behind his teeth. It was going to take everything he had to keep himself from lifting her up in one movement and dragging her to his bed, just behind them. She was small enough for him to cart over one shoulder, really; lanky though he might be, his wiry physique belied a strength most human men would have killed to possess.

She continued to worry at his neck before emboldening herself to meet his lips with hers. It was gentle, just a brush, really. He tangled one of his hands up with hers, and she straightened her fingers out, holding them palm to palm. It was so small in comparison to his, and nowhere near as callused and scarred. They were highborn hands, a scholar's hands, and there was ink worked into the beds of the nails. He chuckled a little as she compared the size of them. He brought that hand up to rest in her hair, where the intricate braids she wore stopped the movement. He made a disappointed moan as it happened.

"Do you like it better down?" she asked. He could only nod in response, and she backed away from him for a second to shake the braids free, working through the plaits with deft hands. Then she kneeled in front of him, hair loose and in little waves, remnants of the braiding.

He couldn't take it any longer. He tangled his hand up in the soft, newly loosened locks, and kissed her fiercely, as fiercely as he had that night in the forest. It was as pleasant now as it was then, and his markings flared to life again as he did it.

She planted her hand against his chest, and worry began to eat at him as he kissed her, the same way it had that night. She was drunk, and he had been well on his way to it, when she had moved up against him. He couldn't do this now - if it was going to happen, it would have to be perfect. He couldn't bear the thought of taking advantage of her lowered inhibitions. So he stopped, stiffening against her.

"What's wrong?" she asked when she realized he was no longer engaged.

"This...shouldn't be happening right now."

"Now is as good a time as any." She leaned in again, but the look in his eyes must have told her not to follow through. She backed off of him and sat, maintaining eye contact for as long as she could.

"We should wait until we're sober," he said. "I need some air." He left her, confused and hurt in the study. He'd take care of himself and come back, and perhaps she could read him a couple more of her fables before he walked her home.

When he returned, she was fast asleep in the corner of the couch where she'd started the night. The look on her face was so peaceful, but she'd be in pain in the morning if she stayed this way. Fenris scooped her up as delicately as he could, laid her in his bed, and stretched out on the sofa himself.

He was no stranger to these kind of sleeping arrangements. His entire life as a slave, he'd slept at the foot of Danarius's bed, like a dog. A sofa for a night wouldn't be any trouble.


	11. Sundermount

**A/N: **This chapter is only about ¾ of the way beta'd, so if anything glaringly obvious stands out at you, I'd appreciate a PM about it.

Thanks go to **GirlyGeek **and **Kukapetal** for listening to hours of rambling on my part,

Legal junk, since it's been a while: The concept and character of Althaea Serra belong to me – everything else is BioWare's. It's their sandbox. I just play in it.

**CHAPTER ELEVEN - SUNDERMOUNT**

She was holding the knife. Maker, she was _holding the thrice-damned knife._

Marius's body had fallen to the floor, a slightly stunned look in his eyes, glossed over in death. She had called him in with a tray of wine and cheeses for her colleagues. She had embraced him, and then she had drawn the knife across his throat, as calmly as if she were deboning a trout.

She knelt beside him, only it wasn't him anymore, it was Luka, dead on the floor, dead in cold blood, blood she'd shed with the thrice-damned knife -

"You know, none of this is real." The voice was familiar, conversational, and with just maybe a hint of sardonic wit behind a cool overtone. The world faded to white. She was wearing white. _What in Thedas is going on here?_

Fenris knelt in front of her, wearing his familiar black tunic and trousers, the only thing she saw that hadn't become completely desaturated when the room had faded away. He loosed her deathgrip on the knife; it clattered to the floor. Then he took her hands gently and started wiping the blood off them with a towel that had appeared from nowhere.

"You should be getting better sleep than this, _amara,_" he said as he finished his task. "I can't always be here to rescue you."

_He called me 'amara'? _Her dream self stared at him, completely nonplussed. All she could do was watch the scene unfold around her, and he sat down next to where she had plopped ungracefully down. He looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him in the Real, a little older, too.

"Back to your sleep then," he said, kissing her gently on the forehead and brushing her cheek with his thumb. "Thrash about any more tonight and you'll wake the baby."

He quirked a corner of his mouth as he tapped her nose lightly, and the world faded to black.

* * *

Althaea woke with a start. She checked herself and her surroundings. Everything in her little nest was intact, from window to hearth. The early morning sun was shining, though the lingering marine layer was doing its best to obscure its light.

He had called her _amara_ - 'beloved' or 'my love', in the Common Tongue - and he'd told her not to wake the baby. Strange concepts, both, from a man she'd never so much as bedded, though she'd gotten rather close a few nights ago over dinner and wine. No, she hadn't been sober, not exactly -_ actually, nowhere near_ - and he had responded to her advances, then shut down with no warning whatsoever.

He'd said they should wait until they were sober. So what if her inhibitions had been lowered by drink? One didn't do things that they _wouldn't_ while under the influence; the presence of liquor was more like a lubricant, easing the walls that society necessitated down. In moderation, it allowed for interactions that were more honest, more real. The wine had emboldened her to make a move, despite an upbringing that conditioned her to passivity, and he had responded...

And then he had stopped. She let out a frustrated sigh.

Surprisingly, though, despite that night, their interactions had been pleasant and she imagined they might even be more affectionate than they had been beforehand. She'd woken up in his soft, huge bed, he'd offered up the use of his bath, and she'd gone to work, no worse for the wear. He'd followed eventually and she'd set him to work copying the alphabet while she'd hacked at her ridiculous pile. That night they'd gone to the Hanged Man and she'd sat, calmly observing the group's interactions and having little to say for most of the night.

When Hawke had mentioned going to Sundermount and suggested bringing Anders along, Fenris had insisted he'd go, instead. Hawke'd had his reservations about not bringing a healer. Merrill had volunteered to stay behind, and it was then that Althaea had finally said a word, insisting that she come along.

After Fenris's explanation of how the Dalish so often liked to make pincushions out of straying humans, she didn't want to take any chances. She wanted to make her penance, but worried that they'd insist on a life for a life. Merrill's intimate knowledge of Dalish tradition would be indispensable, and in so many words Althaea had said she wouldn't go without it.

She noticed that, as she said it, Fenris had crossed his arms much the same way as she had crossed hers. Two pair of eyes, one violet, one green, had stared Hawke down from across the table until he'd finally relented. "Fine, what's one more person?" he'd said, throwing his hands up in defeat. They'd set a date for later in the week to head out, and not long after Althaea had made her excuses and set out for home, Fenris walking her as usual.

He'd left her at the door instead of coming in, but she hadn't had a problem with it, as the hour had been quite late. Much as she'd wanted to try and kiss him again, she hadn't, and he'd departed with a simple "good night". It had sounded disappointed, leaving her to wonder if perhaps she should have attempted to reach for him. Regardless, the chance, if there had been one, had already passed. She worried that there was some other problem at hand and he'd only been using the line _we should be sober_ to hide something else. No, he had to know she was interested at this point. Now she'd just wait for him.

She had time.

He'd come to visit briefly the day after the Hanged Man and she'd treated him to tea and half a meat pie, but then he'd gone off on some sort of contract and she hadn't seen him since. _At least he told you he was going to be gone, _she thought. _He didn't have to do that._

But, it was the day of the big trip and Hawke had said he'd pick her up at about seven bells. She thought she'd heard six at some point in her dream, and if that was true she'd most definitely overslept.

Just as she'd thought about how rumpled she must look, there was a loud rap on the door. _Not Fenris knocking, then_. His knocks were softer and more reserved.

"Hold on!" she yelled at the door as she tried to find something to cover herself up with. In the heat of the summer, she slept in the clothes the Maker gave her, with naught but a light coverlet.

She managed to get a pair of trousers and a camisole on before donning a dressing gown and opening the door. Hawke, Anders, Merrill, and Fenris spilled in through the entryway. Her little loft was not at all suited toward entertaining so many visitors.

"You're not ready," said Hawke as he looked at her state of undress.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I overslept. I worked quite late last night." She stole a glance toward Fenris. The look in his eyes quite clearly said _we're going to have a chat about this later_, but she'd been walking home late at night for _years_ with only a few issues. Certainly he couldn't begrudge her not asking for an escort.

The exchange wasn't lost on either of the other three parties in the room, but Althaea grabbed her traveling leathers and dashed behind a changing screen to get ready. If she had woken up early enough, she'd have washed up and done something with her hair, but it was late and Hawke probably wouldn't want to make camp on the mountain.

"Should we leave?" asked Hawke.

"Why would you need to do that?" asked Althaea as she tugged one of the legs of her trousers up. Of course, Hawke meant the changing. Well, that's what the screen was for, and if he wanted to be a prude he was more than welcome to it.

"Is this a highborn thing, Fenris?" Hawke asked.

She could almost hear the shrug and the eyeroll as Fenris replied, "She's been doing it to me since the day we met."

She finished dressing and walked out from behind the screen, lacing her leather gauntlets up and pulling her leather belt on. The thing had several handy pouches, a scabbard for her dagger, and her quiver attached to it. She strung her bow and put it over her shoulder, then pronounced, "all done."

"That's...not armor," said Hawke.

"I don't _have_ armor."

"How do you _not_ have armor?"

"_Venhedis,_ Hawke," said Fenris, getting off Althaea's bed. "She's a librarian, not a mercenary. Let's just get on with it."

* * *

Fenris was in the vanguard of their traveling pack, but as they wound their way up toward Sundermount he could hear the chatting dying out behind him.

He could tell she wanted to like Merrill, she really did, but he didn't blame her reservations. The witch could be quite likable when she wasn't conversing with her demons and even he'd been forced to admit her charms once or twice, mostly while under the influence of alcohol and out of any place where she was allowed to practice her magic.

He'd had a little talk with her about keeping those techniques to a minimum. Really it was less of a talk and more of a thinly veiled threat, something along the lines of _scare her and I will forcibly remove your eyes from your face, _he couldn't remember.

It wasn't long before they ran into bandits on the road. He wouldn't have thought they'd be stupid enough to attack, but they had. Fenris advanced and created a two-pointed attack formation with Hawke, who began bellowing orders at the two mages.

"Anders, get a barrier up on Althaea, please!" he yelled.

Anders looked around a second. "She's gone!" He charged a fireball and lobbed it at the bandit Fenris was targeting. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and aimed his attack toward an advancing swordsman.

Merrill, true to her promise of staying away from blood magic, incapacitated the two men in front of Fenris with a paralysis spell, allowing him to dispatch them both at his leisure. The scrap ended as quickly as it had started.

Just as Hawke was sheathing his sword, however, Fenris heard the whistle of an arrow flying through the air. It caught one of the bandit rogues square in the throat, just as he was about to backstab Hawke. That last bandit fell down, dead. All their eyes turned toward Althaea, who'd seemingly materialized from nowhere, still in the follow-through from her shot.

The intensity in her eyes morphed into disbelief as she walked toward the corpse and removed the arrow.

"Thanks," said Hawke, who was still slightly stunned. Althaea nodded tersely and stared at the arrow in her hands. She looked a little queasy.

"First kill?" Hawke asked, barely repressing a laugh.

She hesitated before she nodded, and Fenris could tell she was thinking of Luka. She wiped the arrow clean on a patch of grass. Fenris thought about it for a second. Other than the pirate's shoulder, this was the only time he'd seen her take a shot in battle. Among aspiring warriors, a first kill would have been a sizable honor, but her interest in archery was largely oriented toward competition and not fighting. _I'm too delicate for mercenary life_ was what she'd said, months ago now. It had sounded self-deprecating at the time, but it looked like she was right after all.

They stuck a little closer to each other as they continued walking toward the Dalish encampment. Althaea still hadn't spoken a word, but it wasn't long before Anders sidled up to her and started a conversation.

"That was some pretty good shooting back there."

"Thank you," she said, and managed a smile.

"You know, I could enchant some of your arrows, if you like...?"

She shrugged. "That could be interesting, but I'm afraid I don't use them often enough."

"If I had things my way, you would," interrupted Hawke. "I think you might be as good a shot as Sebastian."

"You talk less, too," said Anders. "I could use less preaching attached to an archer."

"Says the sanctimonious prig," said Fenris.

Althaea shook her head and rolled her eyes. "As I said earlier, I'm happier to remain in my library."

"You're not afraid of magic, though," said Anders. "I guess I didn't expect that from Chantry."

"Why would I be?" replied Althaea. "My mother and father are both mages, all but one of my siblings are mages, and I was reared under the assumption that I'd be one."

"Really?"

"My line was specifically bred for magic," she said. "In fact, it's actually something of a family shame that my father sired two non-mages, and it was why it took him so long to become a fully realized Magister."

Fenris listened to the conversation with half an ear. He hadn't known that about her, but she knew how wary he was about such things and likely figured he wouldn't be interested in hearing it.

"They _do_ that in Tevinter?"

"Of _course _they do that in Tevinter. Demitridis has produced a large number of _very _powerful mages. It's probably the only reason why my family enjoyed as much status as they did."

"What would have happened, if you'd stayed?"

"Well, before the uh...incident, my father was in dowry talks with an Antivan family from my mother's old province. I was to be sent away."

"What about your other siblings? What happened to the ones with magic?"

She looked up, thinking. "Phoebus was sent to university in Minrathous, and I haven't heard from him. Gaius became my father's heir, and is officially apprenticed to him. Draco went to the Circle and is an Enchanter. Victoria married an up-and-coming magister out of Qarinus, and Alexia apprenticed herself in Vyrantium."

"Interesting fates."

"All of them potentially profitable, as well."

"Huh," said Anders. "Fenris would have me believe it's all blood magic and demons and slaves."

"A lot of it _is_ like that, but I didn't see it until much later. My father was a good man, who was ultimately corrupted by the allure of power. The difference between here and Tevinter is that there, it's a much shorter jump." _Good girl._

"Is that why you joined the Chantry?"

"No, I joined the Chantry because they extended their arms to me in my hour of need." She shrugged. "At that point,_ anyone_ could have fed and clothed me and I'd have pledged myself to them with no questions."

"But you _do_ have reservations about their methods. The Circle and such." Of _course _he'd find a way to steer the conversation in this direction.

"Most days, I don't think the Circle has the wrong idea."

"Mages in Kirkwall are treated no better than slaves!"

She was quiet for a second, but in Fenris's point of view, it was the dangerous sort of silence. "If you'd seen some of the things that were done to me, you'd think the Circle was a luxury inn."

"Torture, rape, murder. All these things and more have happened in Kirkwall, and all over Thedas." There was a glint in his eyes, the kind that usually heralded the arrival of his demon passenger.

"Clearly then, you don't know the half of it."

"If you'd explain it to me, I might understand!"

"I'm sorry, Anders. I'm not ready to share those kind of details with anyone."

_Except me, _Fenris noted with a bit of pride. She ended the conversation by slowing down and allowing herself to fall to the back of the group.

It did seem, though, that the level of animosity she had just displayed toward Anders was unusually high, even for her. Something was up and he wanted to know what it was, so he fell into step with her. He wanted to remain private despite the proximity, so he spoke in Arcanum. "_You're uneasy_."

"_Was it that obvious?_" she asked. There was no sarcasm, just resignation.

He smirked. "_For me, yes. I'm not sure about the others._"

She gathered her thoughts for a long while. "_I worry,_" she finally said. "_What if the Dalish decide the only recourse is a life for a life?_"

He stopped, and so did she. He fought the urge to kiss away her worry, or otherwise to seize her by the shoulders and shake it out of her. "_There are many things they might ask of you for penance, Althaea, but that much I will __**not **__allow._"

She nodded and whispered, "_thank you._" She gave him a generous smile and grasped his gauntleted hand as the group continued to trudge toward Sundermount. Somehow, he never thought he'd be so elated by something as simple as that act.

It seemed to be an afternoon for pleasant surprises.

* * *

There was no other resistance on the way, and before long they spotted the base of the mountain where the Dalish made camp. Merrill had grown increasingly nervous as they had drawn closer, but the two guards made little issue, greeting Hawke with a rigid sort of respect.

"We're here to see the Keeper," said Hawke. The guards nodded and one of them escorted them into the camp proper, then had them sit on some wooden benches around a fire and left again.

Althaea turned to Merrill, who was surveying the camp with a careful set of eyes. "Is there anything I should know when addressing the Keeper, Merrill?"

"She'll probably want to speak to you alone. Just...speak from your heart and tell her the truth of things. You'll be fine."

They continued to wait, and Althaea noted with some comfort that Fenris hadn't shrugged her hand off. She thought about letting go - his clawed gauntlets were poking at her exposed flesh something fierce - but decided against the idea; ridding herself of the momentary discomfort wasn't worth it.

She'd likely have to speak to the Keeper alone. The thought terrified her, and though she maintained a veneer of calm, she felt her heart might burst from the rate at which it was beating. She pressed herself a little closer to Fenris, who straightened up but didn't offer any protest.

Hawke, who was sitting across the fire, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Anders was bouncing one of his legs up and down. Merrill sat primly with her hands crossed in her lap, and Althaea understood why she hadn't wanted to come in the first place; it seemed she was as much an outsider here as the rest of the group.

The guard came back and beckoned Hawke to the Keeper's aravel, but he shook his head and pointed at Althaea instead. If the guard was confused, she didn't let it on. Althaea got up and followed the guard, holding her head up as high as she dared.

The aravel was cozy, but well appointed. Small, presumably precious artifacts hung from the walls, and a soft bed rested in the corner. There were books upon books in shelves, and the windows let soft light in from the afternoon sun, as well as fresh air.

The Keeper was wiry and small, and not at all as intimidating as Althaea thought she'd be. She smiled gently and opened her arms in a welcoming gesture. "_Andaran atish'an_, child_. _Let me have a look at you."

Althaea was no stranger to being inspected, but the Keeper's appraising touch didn't make her feel like so much livestock as she thought it might.

"You have the old blood written in your eyes. From where do you hail?"

"I was born and raised in Tevinter, Keeper." She didn't know if there was another honorific to give her, but _your honor_ and _your grace_ didn't seem quite right.

"Ah," the Keeper said, as if that had answered all her questions. "I have been told that it is not uncommon in your part of the world."

Althaea knew that among her family and some of the other, more magical lines, slaves particularly strong in magic might be called upon to sire a child or two. The slave in question was often chosen as much for his resemblance to the head of the family as he was for the magic in his blood, and was often sent away or otherwise disposed of as soon as a pregnancy was confirmed. Since all half-blooded children were human, there was no way to prove anything, and so the practice thrived to this day. _Anything to get an edge, really._

She wondered, for the first time, if this had been what had happened with her, but shook away the thought. She was easily her father in miniature, and she doubted his parentage could ever be questioned.

"I was not told of any elven heritage, Keeper, but such things are traditionally...kept quiet."

"As well they should be. It is a barbaric practice, much like many other things in your homeland."

Althaea was torn between agreement and denial, but realized the latter was only due to a misplaced sense of nationalism. _Tevinter is no longer my home._

"I was afraid you might come," said the Keeper. "The prospect of ill tidings was made known to me. I must admit I did not expect them to come from the mouth of a _shemlen _wearing a Dalish bow." _She noticed._ She paced a few steps and pinned Althaea with her eyes. "What is your name?"

_Speak from your heart and tell her the truth of things._ "My given name is Amalthaea Demitridis; but I live as Althaea, and you may call me that if it so pleases you."

"I sense that you have had many names, and you will have many more before your journey is complete. I shall call you Althaea, for that is what you call yourself." She sat on one of the benches and gestured at Althaea to sit across from her. "So please, make your tidings known to me."

Althaea reached for the book and handed it to the Keeper. "I met the last surviving member of this clan in the Alienage in Val Royeaux, and he bade me bring it to the Dalish at the first chance I got."

"The Parsa clan," said the Keeper, after thumbing through the book. "We feared them lost. It is confirmed now, I suppose; please tell me everything you know."

_Tell her the truth of things._ It wouldn't do for her to gloss over the details, and if this Marethari didn't know the entire story, she would not be able to pass the judgement required for Althaea's penance.

* * *

It was nearly an hour before Althaea emerged from the aravel, Marethari's hand on her shoulder. Fenris watched as she carefully took the steps down and allowed herself to be led back to the fire. She looked bleary-eyed and appeared to have been close to tears for quite some time. His heart seemed to contract in his chest from the thought of it; she'd shed so many over that night already. Hopefully whatever the Keeper had in mind would lay her pain to rest. It didn't look like her death was involved at this point; but then again, Althaea could be infuriatingly stoic when she needed to be.

The Keeper spoke as she gestured Althaea back to the benches, where she sat next to Fenris. She calmed appreciably after she sat. Learning that one wouldn't be killed would definitely have an effect on that person. Nevertheless, she was closer to him than she had been before the summons; shoulder to shoulder, with the length of her thigh pressed closely up against his. It was unexpected, but not unpleasant.

"Today we shall mourn the loss of clan Parsa, and tonight we shall celebrate the life of Luka, the last of them. I will go prepare the people."

"What does it mean, Merrill?" Althaea whispered.

"I don't know for sure. There will probably be a procession up the mountain. It has been a very long time since we've mourned the loss of an entire clan. Not in my memory."

"And tonight?" Hawke asked.

"Tonight," said Merrill, "I believe there is to be a feast."

So they were to spend the rest of the day here on Sundermount, and likely the night, too. Fenris wasn't bothered by the additional investment of time, but knew Hawke might have other engagements. He leaned in toward Althaea.

"_He may need to leave before the day is through, and the witch -" _he was careful not to use any words anyone else might pick up on, or proper names, for that matter - "_may want to follow. She does not belong here, and it would be best for everyone if she didn't linger._"

"_I understand._" She looked thoughtful. "_Are you comfortable with escorting me home on your own?_"

"_I brought you safely from Orlais, did I not?_" He smiled wryly, and was rewarded with a small quirk of her lips. "_I am sure doing the same from here will be no trouble._"

Althaea nodded, then pulled Merrill over to Hawke and Anders. "Are you okay with all of this? I know you're very busy, and Merrill looks quite uncomfortable."

"We didn't exactly bring camping gear," said Hawke.

"I'm sure they'll lend you something to sleep on and a place at the fire," said Merrill. She was practically bouncing from foot to foot in her anxiety, which wasn't terribly surprising given how her last interaction with her clan had gone. Then again, her insights would still be useful, and her anxiety was a small price to pay.

"Will they want you to stay, Merrill?" asked Althaea. Fenris still couldn't believe she could summon up such a sweet voice in her interactions with the girl, but he supposed he hadn't seen her use blood magic in earnest yet. She'd come to her senses, he was sure of it.

"I don't know," said Merrill. "I'm not sure I want to ask."

"I'm sure they'd ask you to leave if they didn't want you here," said Fenris dryly from his corner.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," said Merrill. "Marethari will be civil, but mostly the others will give me the evil eye and hope that does the trick."

They waited for what seemed like an age before Marethari returned.

"It is time," she said, handing Althaea her bow. "We will lay their memories to rest in the graveyard on the mountain."

A small group gathered at the base of the mountain, and despite the warmth of the day, they had all donned cloaks. Althaea took her place at the rear of the group next to Fenris, and put on her traveling cloak as well. "Marethari said it gets cold in the upper parts of the mountain," she said to him. "Are you sure you don't want to grab yours?"

He shook his head. "I'll be fine. Was any of this explained to you? You seem...at ease with it."

"Yes," she said. "There will be a procession up the mountain to a graveyard there, and I am to bury this bow while Marethari speaks her words."

"You will be without a weapon." Fenris was displeased with the thought. It would certainly make the trip back more difficult if she couldn't at least attempt to pull her weight in battle.

"The Keeper said that I would given another in exchange. I tried to refuse, but she said I should be honored by the gift. I guess humans don't receive honors from the Dalish very often."

"No, they don't."

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "She said I was the first Tevinter her clan hasn't shot on sight, Fenris. I'm not sure how I feel about getting a gift from them, knowing that." Tevinter was the first civilization to come into contact with old Arlathan, and the ultimate cause of the ancient elven empire's fall, so that surprised him very little.

"Just take it at face value, I suppose," he whispered back. "Remember that you expected to walk in and be branded a murderer."

"Point taken."

"Do you still feel like one?"

"A little," said Althaea. "But I think those are my qualms, not theirs. Marethari seemed relieved that I didn't try to stop Luka, and that any of her clan would have done the same. The difference in morals is...somewhat refreshing. But she did say that I should carry the memory of him with me. That, if used properly, it would become a way to gain perspective."

The procession put their hoods up, and Althaea followed suit, then took a lantern offered her by one of the elves. _Quick study._ She smiled sweetly up at him. "I'll have a lot to think on when I get home," she said. For now, though, it appeared she would be watching carefully for a very flavorful journal entry.

She was braver than she gave herself credit for, he could say that much for sure. No human he knew besides Hawke would so willingly go to a hostile culture to satisfy a promise made to another. He wasn't even sure he'd do such a thing, especially for a stranger.

The procession started up the mountain. He looked down at her as she walked, focused on the path ahead and the chanting of the Keeper in the lead, and Merrill in the back.

He smiled and followed. He cared little for the forced gravitas of this procession, but he rather liked the view.

* * *

The ritual had been blessedly short. Merrill had stood closely to Althaea, translating, and she had been guided gently when her part of the ritual had come. They had wound their way back down the mountain and to the fire, which had been stoked into a large blaze.

To her amusement, Althaea noted the descent hadn't come a moment too soon; Fenris was freezing. Of course, he wouldn't admit it, and stood vigilant as he usually did, but she could see that his lips were rather colorless and gooseflesh had erupted on all his exposed skin. He chose a seat very near the bonfire, as well.

Althaea decided to take a small mercy on him. Here on the mountain, the nights were almost as cold as the days were hot, and the fire would warm him, but perhaps not quickly enough. She went to where they left their daypacks and retrieved his cloak and a small flask of brandy she kept on hand. She draped it around his shoulders and handed him the flask; he took both gratefully.

She made to sit, but found herself being whisked away by one of the guards she'd met at the entrance, a different one this time and one of the ones who had been in the procession.

They were odd, these Dalish. They were no longer openly hostile, but neither were they entirely cordial, either, leaving just a tenuous sort of respect. The Dalish didn't travel much in the Imperium, so there was little she'd heard of them was what had come third-, fourth-, or even fifth-hand, and even that information was gotten after she had moved to the Marches. Getting a glimpse into their lives was fascinating, and even more so since she would have Merrill around to parse through the information with her.

Perhaps she'd even send a transcript of her observations to that Fereldan scholar, the one with all the travelogues. What was his name...? Bah. She could never remember, but his writings had been by far some of the most interesting ones of her childhood. Maybe she'd show them to Fenris, once his skills were up to scratch.

The guard led her to one of the aravels at the north end of the camp, bigger than the rest, and introduced her to Ilen, the craftsmaster.

"I'm assuming you're the shem I'm supposed to be outfitting," he said by way of greeting. "Let's get on with it, then."

He took some measurements she was familiar with, her height and the span of her arms, but when he brought the string up against her bicep, she looked at him in confusion. "Master Ilen...what is it you're measuring me for, exactly?"

"Keeper says I'm to provide you raiment and a bow," he mouthed around the string. He nudged her elbows up and took it around her chest.

_Raiment? Why would I need raiment?_ She realized he meant armor. She was to be given armor, as well as the bow, then. She very nearly protested until she recalled Fenris's words. _Just take it at face value_.

"You're small for a shem," said Ilen thoughtfully as he took the tape around her waist, hip, and calf. "I've sold all my larger sets to the armorer in the city, but I may be able to fit you out of the stock I've got left. Hold on a second." He left her standing uncomfortably as he went into his aravel. She looked around the camp in the late afternoon light; shadows were beginning to move into the deeper cuts of the mountain. She tried to ignore the stares of some of the elves moving in and around the camp.

Fenris, apparently warmed enough by the fire, the cloak, and the brandy, padded his way over to her. "Hawke and the others just left. What is he doing?"

"Fitting me for armor," she replied. "I thought it might be a misunderstanding, but I was afraid to ask."

"Not likely," he said. "A bow in and of itself seemed like a small reward, given the importance of the book to them."

"I wish they'd understand that 'not being killed' was enough of one for me." That elicited a chuckle from Fenris, who seemed to be glad for the reappearance of her sense of humor. It was far from a rapier wit, she knew, and certainly not as sharp as the elf's sardonic repartee, but every once in a while she was glad could impress him with a clever turn of phrase.

Master Ilen reappeared, laden with what looked to be several sets of finely crafted leather armor as well as some pieces of metal that looked like they were meant to go round her legs. She looked suspiciously at the pieces, hoping that his next words weren't going to be 'try this one on'.

She'd hoped in vain, and obediently walked behind the aravel to try and change. She thought she'd fixed most of the belts and clasps properly, but when she walked back out, barelegged and barefooted, Fenris let out a snort of amusement.

Althaea could not suppress an exasperated glare at him and launched into a tirade in Arcanum, mostly amounting to _if you're going to laugh at me, you may as well help_; he shook his head, still wearing a wry smile, and bent to help her adjust the buckles.

"It's too big for you," he finally said, reaching for a different set and tossing it her way. "Try that." As she disappeared behind the aravel again, she heard him engage the craftsman in a fairly friendly-sounding conversation. When she appeared again, he reached to adjust her as he had before. Though he tugged at a couple of the tougher buckles unceremoniously, the glint in his eyes didn't agree with how perfunctorily he performed the task. _Progress,_ she thought as she smiled a little.

He had her try a couple more before pronouncing the second to last acceptable. It seemed to be the least flashy, as well, but it fit her like a second skin and she felt a little exposed by the length of it. She was fitted for a pair of bracers and boots as well, and stood looking at herself for a second.

"How does it feel?" Fenris asked, apparently acutely aware of how uncomfortable she felt. Ilen had disappeared back into the aravel with the unselected pieces of armor.

"It's really...quite heavy, and it doesn't move that well," she said. In comparison, her careworn set of traveling leathers were buttery soft.

"You'll have to break it in," he said gently. "With enough use, it will start moving with you."

"I'm sure Hawke would love that," she said. "You know what he said to me the other day? 'We'll make a proper rogue out of you yet.'"

"Yes, he's approached me a couple of times since you were introduced," he replied. "You already made it clear you wanted no part of his mischief and mayhem, and I reiterated it for you."

"I appreciate that."

"That being said, anyone who takes to the road often enough can always benefit from a good set of armor, so I'm glad you're taking it seriously."

She was, but half because she was obliged to take what was offered her or risk offending the Keeper. The other half was because it seemed to please Fenris to see her in proper gear; she had taken a few close calls on their way home from Orlais, so she'd definitely benefit from having something a little more substantial on her side.

He leaned in toward her. "It would be wisest if you kept these on and wore them home."

She nodded, and a few minutes later Ilen came out with two bows. These, she was definitely interested in. He laid them out on the table.

"The one on the left is made of sylvanwood. The one on the right is made of ironbark. Each has their own advantages, but they'll both shoot true. I'd recommend stringing them both up and giving them a try." He pointed at a target some twenty yards away.

She strung each up in turn, feeling quite a bit more confident than she had putting on the armor, and shot at the targets until she had a good feel for both. She decided on the sylvanwood, and Ilen smiled knowingly as she did.

"That's a good bow. It will serve you well."

She grinned at him widely. "It's a gift I'll treasure all my days, Master. They both are."

"Yes," said Ilen, "but I knew the bow was more important of the two. What will you name it?"

She hadn't thought about that, nor had she named any of her other weapons. "That's not a tradition I'm familiar with."

"It's bad luck not to name your weapon," he said.

Althaea thought about it for a minute. "What do you call a treasured gift in your language?"

"We would call it _enansal_, the word for a gift, or a blessing. Is that what you think to name it?"

"I think it sounds appropriate," she said, bowing to him. "Thank you, again."

Twilight was turning into night and the heat of the day had definitely left, so she donned the cloak again and sat by the fire, where things were starting to wind up. Various members of the clan had returned from whatever they did during the day, hunting and gathering supplies, she supposed. Some had pulled out musical instruments and started playing; she heard and saw drums, a penny whistle, and a fiddle, and food was being passed around the circle.

Althaea still felt rather like an outsider, as she should, but noticed the coolness starting to fall off a good number of those in attendance as the night wore on. She wondered if a lot of it had to do with Merrill's presence; it seemed to have done more harm than good.

She'd have a lot to think about when she got home. In this moment though, she felt at peace with the world, and was content to lean back against the bench and watch the music and dancing as it was happening.

One of the elves handed her a small flask of something, which she took a drink of. It was a spirit that tasted of berries and juniper, and warmed her from the inside out. Fenris didn't seem to like it as much, and she laughed when he made a face. At some point, he'd removed the metal bits of his armor and had visibly relaxed, stretching his feet out in front of him.

"Not as bad as you thought it might be?" he finally asked. The fires and singing had carried well into the night and she was curled drowsily up in her cloak, full of simple food and the juniper spirit.

"Rather better," she replied, curling up her toes in the soft dirt in front of her and simply enjoying the feel of it. "Now I can kind of understand why you don't wear shoes."

He looked at her bare feet and laughed. "That's one reason."

"I'll not go as far as saying it's better than boots, but...this is nice." His only reply was a soft murmur of agreement, a yawn, and a stretch.

She was tired, too, but wasn't sure where to sleep. The rest of the camp was bound to be cold - the mountains had proven colder in the summer than even she figured they'd be, so she decided to stick close to the fire.

"I'd offer you my shoulder," Fenris said quietly, "but I think they might find that offensive." She looked around; several couples had snuggled up around the fire, sharing cloaks or blankets. She almost asked him why, then stopped. _You idiot._ The Dalish were a dying breed and considered themselves the last true children of Arlathan; any child born of the union with a human would be an opportunity lost. Even the concept of a romance with a human would be totally anathema to them.

Well, it wasn't like she was proposing a marriage to the man in front of them or anything. Then she thought about some of the disapproving stares she'd gotten today and realized that most had come after she'd shared moments with Fenris that might be construed as beyond the realm of friendship. She flushed deeply at the thought and scooted a couple inches away.

"Didn't want to cause a scandal among the Dalish, then?" he asked with some amusement.

Well, just because she wasn't sitting close to him didn't mean had to stop flirting. "_Honestly, I'd rather be the scandal of Hightown." _Oh, what a sight_ that_ would be.

Fenris's eyebrow began a slow crawl up and disappeared behind his hair. He wore a devilish grin. "_I think I can work with that._" She hoped it wasn't the juniper spirit talking.

"Good," she said, and curled up against the bench. She let the noise of the camp surround her as she took her night's sleep. Tomorrow they'd head back home at first light, hopefully with enough time for her to get a good day's work in, and a bath as well.


	12. Firsts

**Warnings: **smut, smut, smutty smut smut. On a mostly unrelated note, _trigger warnings _for implied rape and unscrupulous uses for the enslaved

Next chapter might be a little while coming because I have a lot I want to cover, so uh...savor this one!

Special thanks go to ** Kukapetal **and dA user **Rhax** for their help, ideas, and criticisms :) love you ladies!

**CHAPTER TWELVE - FIRSTS**

It wasn't too long after dawn when the sun came rising above the shadow of the mountain.

Althaea woke and stretched as best as she could. _At least the ground was soft._ The fire had burned down to coals hours ago and the morning was cold, but her cloak had been as warm as she'd hoped it'd be and the only parts of her that had been nipped by the night air were her nose and ears.

Fenris was nowhere to be found. She scanned the camp for him - it appeared everyone else had retreated to their aravels for the night - but there was no sign of him. Deciding that he'd likely just gone to relieve himself, she reached for her day pack and pulled her boots back on.

_This strap goes here, and this one here...I think. How did I let myself get talked into this?_

Simple, really. She'd seen how he'd smiled when she'd first put it on, and that had clinched it for her. Ordinarily she'd have resented what she perceived as being coddled - it reminded her too much of Sebastian, though he really only did have her best interests in mind - but Fenris had proven his expertise a number of times, and frankly...coddling was not in his repertoire.

She thought about the number of times he'd managed to see past her attempts to keep her composure, and how swiftly he'd addressed it, usually with the phrase "you're uneasy, tell me why." Brusque? Yes. But somehow his no-nonsense attitude was comforting, and something she found herself aspiring to, especially after exposure to years' worth of the affected gestures prevalent among the Tevinter nobility, and even in the Chantry.

The last person who understood her that way was Marius. There really was no wondering, then, why she seemed to be falling for him. She smiled, shook her head, and got up to have a look around the camp.

She found him at the entrance, sitting on a rock, wearing his cloak, pack, and sword. "You're awake," he said, with some surprise.

"Yes. It was a little cold."

"Should we be on our way, then?" _Oh, Maker, that smile. _

"It might be rude if I don't take my leave," she said. "It seems that everyone is beginning to wake up."

"Do what you need to, then," he said. "I'll be waiting here."

* * *

Fenris had forgotten how much easier the walk down Sundermount was than the walk up, but by the time they had cleared the mountain path and Kirkwall was in view again, the sun had begun to beat down with the proper heat of summer.

He wasn't ever sure he'd get used to the climate of this place relative to Tevinter, though no one would ever catch him complaining. He often caught himself basking in the heat of Kirkwall's high summer, and loathed the approach of winter. It never snowed in Minrathous. "Winter" was little more than a prolonged rainy season, with the occasional overnight frost.

When the sun came out at last, they'd both removed their cloaks and broke their fast on bread, nuts and cheese Althaea had the presence of mind to pack. A light traveler she was not, but right now he was glad she'd included something in her pack for eating at all. They had only originally planned to spend the day at the camp and return home. He watched from the corner of his eye as she got up and arranged the skirts of her new armor set, checking her rear end as best she could and pulling the whole thing down on the off chance it might cover a bit more of her legs.

The outfit did show a lot more than she was probably used to, at least in public anyway. The shortest skirts he'd ever seen her wear had ended at her knees, and these were quite a bit higher than that. He knew the presence of calf-length boots, greaves, and elbow guards made the appearance of the armored skirt a little less ridiculous, but he still had to admit that the overall effect was…rather fetching.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

In response, she turned bright red. "I feel naked."

He chuckled. "Of all the times in which the word could apply to you, now is the time it makes you blush?" She never seemed to take issue with stripping down when she was in Val Royeaux, and it was more than once he'd had to look away or abruptly change direction. She'd even managed to embarrass Hawke yesterday morning by diving behind a changing screen to change into her traveling leathers, rather than asking everyone to leave the room.

"That was in private. I've never worn anything so short…is this really necessary?"

_No_, he thought, but what he said was: "It will help you move more quietly, and that can't hurt anything."

She made a thoughtful noise and sighed a little. "Well, at least the thing has a set of bloomers attached." He couldn't tell if she'd seen through his lie or not.

They continued to walk. "Did the Keeper have any last words for you?" he asked.

"She did, but I don't know what they mean. She said they'd make sense to me when they were meant to." She sighed. "I'm not sure if I like them. The Dalish, I mean."

"How so?"

"I can't put my finger on it," she said. "Most of the time I was there I felt like an interloper, and they seemed to dismiss _you_ out of hand. Do they do that to all city elves?"

"Just the ones who choose to continue living among humans. They'd welcome me with open arms the second I chose to join them."

"Did you ever think about it?"

"No."

"Do you ever…not feel like an elf?"

He thought about that for a short time. He certainly didn't identify with any of the mewling, pitiful beings living in squalor in the alienage, but not a day went by where he didn't get glares or utterances of the slur 'knife-ear', usually when he dared to venture out in full armor and weaponry. Althaea would never see those things, because her presence added legitimacy to his travels in Hightown. Whether he was in full harness or not, most assumed she was noble-born, and he, her servant.

That bothered him greatly, but knowing that she never thought of him that way helped a little. Even when he _was_ under contract, she'd taken great pains to ensure that she treated him like…well…a person.

"I think I might forget, if people didn't continuously remind me." It came out more gruffly than he'd intended.

"I meant no offense."

"I took none." He took care to show her a smile. "I simply meant to say that the people of Hightown make my race apparent on a daily basis. Some of them make it quite clear that the mansion would be torched if I weren't a friend of Hawke's."

"That's…barbaric."

"It is the way of things." He almost said _says the Magister's daughter_, but that would have been far more uncharitable of him than necessary. She'd already proven time and again that she was cut from a different cloth than most of her station.

She didn't speak again, and they walked in silence for a long while. Angry storm clouds were beginning to gather in the distance. _It will rain today, but we will be long home before it happens, I'm sure of it. _He quickened his pace anyway, and found that Althaea was still able to keep up.

She laughed. "If I continue traipsing about with you, I'll need to tailor my entire wardrobe before long. You walk so fast!"

"Perhaps it's because my legs are so long, and yours, so short," he teased. She directed a mock punch at his shoulder and took a few long strides so as to get ahead of him. He matched her pace with a raised eyebrow.

"I'd ask you to race me, but it'd hardly be a competition."

"Hardly." He could keep up a light jog for days if he had to, and while he hadn't timed a sprint recently, he was sure he was still quite capable of outrunning a human in similar physical shape. Althaea on the other hand…well, she should just be glad she kept to her books.

He stopped abruptly, hearing a noise that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. There was trouble ahead.

"What is it?" Althaea asked, but he shushed her. _String up and go hide_, he mouthed. She obeyed with no objections, and he was glad for it.

A small group of thugs walked up along the path, talking loudly, stopping when they saw Fenris in their path. By giving her the order to hide, he'd sacrificed his own ability to do so. _Four on one. If they choose to fight, the odds are still in my favor. _

"What have we here?" asked the loudest and biggest of the men in front of him. "Lone knife-ear on the road."

"Nice armor, he has, Big Boy," said one of the littler ones. "Probably worth a lot."

"I suggest you move on," said Fenris. "It isn't worth your lives."

"Four on one, kids," said Big Boy. "Think we can take him?"

Fenris lit up his markings and unsheathed his sword. Perhaps that display might convince them otherwise.

Sadly, it didn't. He waited until they were nearly upon him, felt deep inside and tapped the part of him he knew would help him out, sending a blast of energy that bowled the men over. Then he eliminated the smallest one, the one who looked as if he was recovering the fastest. By this time the other three men were up and surrounding him, and he took his sword in a giant swing, seriously injuring another.

One of them tried to come up to flank him, and he was out of Fenris's range of motion, so he took the one called Big Boy in a rush and attempted to impale him on his sword. It would have worked if the flanking man hadn't managed to nick him and change his trajectory.

He managed to hold the two of them off for a short time, but wasn't making too much progress. He'd be able to take them eventually, but the effort would make him too tired to get home quickly. "A little help here, please," he called. He was fairly sure she was safe at this point, and he could use her.

She obliged by popping up over a ridge and loosing an arrow at the smaller, faster man, nailing him in the unprotected flesh between the two halves of his cuirass. The man fell down, screaming in agony, and Fenris now had the ability to take the last man on. While he duelled with Big Boy, another arrow flew through the air and the smaller man's screams stopped.

He was able to disarm the large man, and was about to reach through him and end his existence, but heard the sound of retching behind the ridge and thought better of it. He dropped his sword, knocked the man out, and snapped his neck, then did the same to the one he had injured earlier. He took a brief moment to empty the men's purses. _Not bad,_ he thought as he pocketed their coin.

"You can come out," he called, and she did. She didn't bother to retrieve her arrows.

As they continued down the path, Fenris struggled to remember his first kill, but couldn't. Had he experienced any feelings like Althaea had? If he had, he'd always been able to shove them into the back of his mind. Violence and gore had never been an issue for him. They were just an assumed and necessary part of his lifestyle. It would be different for her, surely.

He sighed, stopped, and held her by the shoulder. "When you fight, Althaea, take care that you always make the kill shot."

She couldn't maintain eye contact with him. "It was too hard…I hesitated." And then she'd gotten him directly in the kidney and had subjected him to more agony than would have been humane even for the worst murderer in the history of Thedas.

"You take no qualms about doing so on an animal." He'd seen the neat hole in the pig she'd brought back to camp weeks ago; it had suffered little.

"Of course not. It's an animal."

"Those men we fought today…I gave them the option to walk away. Their choice makes them little better than animals, and they deserve no less."

"I understand. Hopefully I won't have to any time soon." He seriously doubted that. Despite her insistence on staying out of fights, she'd been dragged into them more often than she seemed comfortable with. The faster she learned to distance herself to things like this, the better off she'd be.

He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her forehead. "It gets easier, I swear it. Come; let's hurry back to Kirkwall and clean the both of us up. You can't show up at the chantry looking like that."

* * *

Monsoon season in Kirkwall always proved to be miserable.

It was easily as bad as the typhoon season that hit Marnus Pell during Solis and Matrinalis. In Marnus Pell, though, she'd lived in the equivalent of Hightown; there, the drainage had been excellent, and inches of rain hardly ever meant flooding in the streets. Here, the exact opposite was true.

Days like this made Althaea glad she could up and decide to take a day off. So long as the work put in front of her got done, she received her salary and she was rarely bothered; now that she was finally caught up on the pile of work left from her trip to Orlais, she was free to return to a much lighter schedule, one that allowed time for her to read for pleasure and cook to her heart's content.

Those things were what were happening at this very moment. It was cool enough outside to allow for a large fire in the hearth, so she had taken advantage of that and baked meat pies. They'd keep for ages, even in the heat of summer, and they were delicious to boot. Everything had been cleaned, and she snuggled up with a book borrowed from the Chantry library – a book with stories of the ancient dwarven Paragons.

It had been a rather uneventful few weeks. She'd spent nearly all her time in the basement, working on catching up. Fenris had joined her most days, except for when his services were required by Hawke. He had moved past the basics at this point and was reading small words, and was making attempts at reading the signs of market stalls and street signs during their evening walks. He seemed to have dropped his defensive pretenses and was no longer afraid to make mistakes, which pleased her; as soon as that had happened, his rate of progress had increased exponentially and he'd actually started to enjoy lessons. He'd proven a quick study, and she decided he'd prove a voracious reader once he knew what he was doing.

In exchange, he'd insisted on showing her some basic dagger work, using the giant foyer of his mansion as a practice space. She couldn't decide whether the results had been hilarious, tragic, or some combination thereof, and it wasn't long before she'd thought about giving that particular venture up. Fenris had laughed a little at how pathetic her attempts had been, but every once in a while they tried again. She could tell that he enjoyed teaching her the basic concepts even though she wasn't exactly taking well to them, so she continued to try and learn what she could.

His half-exasperated, half-amused voice rang in her head as she enlarged the flame of the lantern she was reading by: _It's a parry, Althaea, not a pirouette. Try again._

Once, in response to that mantra, she'd launched herself into a series of out-of-practice _tours jeté _across the long hall. She'd failed to stick the last landing, and had fallen to the floor. Fenris had rushed to her side, but by the time he'd reached her, she had descended into a fit of giggles, and he had laughed, shaking his head and sitting next to her.

That had been the first time she'd ever heard him laugh so hard. It had started as a rumble, deep in his chest, and had burst out of him, almost unbidden. That had set her off and they'd sat, laughing, for what seemed like ages. It had been a moment of welcome levity, and he'd brought her in for a sweet kiss that had gotten more than a little heated.

All that, though, and he still hadn't gone any farther. She didn't want to push, though, lest she create an awkward moment that might separate them for days. That just wouldn't do; she enjoyed his presence too much to miss it. And the laughter. If she could squeeze another belly laugh out of the man, it would be bliss.

She closed the book and turned the lantern off, and dozed while she listened to the rain. While the flooding in the streets that followed wasn't all that great to deal with, she found she did enjoy the sound of it. It had a way of washing all the worries out of her mind, and she always slept better when it was raining out.

She had actually fallen asleep when the door knocked softly, waking her. She padded lightly to it and asked, "Who is it?"

"It's me." Fenris's voice came muffled across the wood of the door. She made sure her dressing gown was shut tightly and opened the door.

He looked like a drowned rat. A muddy, bloody drowned rat. She knew he'd been off working today, but figured he'd have just headed home. She wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry, because he looked ridiculous but he was also tracking mud all over. "The study finally started leaking," he said as he made to take another few steps inside.

"Stay there just a second," she said, and fetched a towel for him. "You need to get out of those clothes, and clean up a bit."

"I figured as much." He didn't keep any clothing at her place, so she went rummaging through a pile for something that might fit. If he had been human, it would have been more trouble, but even as a rather big elf, he was rather narrow of waist. She figured one of her bigger pairs of trousers might fit him.

She found the pair and tossed it at him, then threw a soft cotton shirt in his direction. "There's clean water for washing in the basin, and you can see if those will fit," she said, and she turned around and read her book for a spell. She remained that way until the sounds of rustling and splashing stopped.

"Are you decent?"

"The shirt doesn't fit."

"That was the biggest one I had."

"I'll make do."

"No, I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Hold on a second." She fetched a change of clothes for herself, went behind the changing screen, and changed out of the dressing robe, throwing it at him. "Try that."

It was nearly a full minute before the rustling stopped again. "It will suffice." She stepped out.

The trousers fit, but only just. He'd had to keep the waistband unlaced, his thighs stretched out the fabric of the legs, and what were ankle-length on her stopped just below his knee. He couldn't close the robe because his shoulders were too wide.

She knew she was blushing to the top of her head. It should have looked awkward, perhaps even funny, but it wasn't. Instead, it was rather alluring.

Fenris cocked a smile and gave the robe up as a bad job, tossing it back onto the bed where she sat. "I'd hate to rip that, it's quite fine. Where did you get it?"

"Nicked it from your place." She'd found it in one of Danarius's many trunks-full of fine clothing, a good portion of which must have been designed for a well-dressed female slave. Fenris had let her take a good portion of it home, shrugging.

He breathed in the smell of the meat pies and gravitated in their direction, not bothering to ask if it was okay to eat; it was something of an unwritten permission by this point. Althaea made to stoke the hearth as he did so.

She knew she was ogling, but she couldn't help it. The last time she'd seen him in this state of undress, it had been in near darkness and she'd been trying her best not to look, anyway; now he actually seemed to be parading around in front of her. The damnable man knew exactly how appealing he looked right now, all lean, wiry muscle and swirling lyrium.

He sat at the table with the meat pie. Althaea sat across from him. "So...the study was leaking?"

He mumbled a yes through a mouthful of pie. "Also, I haven't seen you in two days." It was his turn to blush now. "I thought I might ask if I could borrow your floor."

"If all you wanted was a floor, Fenris, you had your choice of any of your downstairs rooms."

"Yes, but then I'd have to haul wood for a fire. I knew you'd already have one going."

She reached a hand out across the small table to him. "You know you never need an excuse to come over," she said. "Or even to spend the night."

His eyebrows began to crawl up his face, just like they had on Sundermount when she'd suggested they become the scandal of Hightown. _We never did make good on it, _she thought. _We ought to correct that._

Maker help her, she was going to be forward, this time without the help of half a bottle of wine. She got up and poured him a tumbler of water, but lingered behind him and placed her hands gently on his shoulders.

Though he lit up, there was no sign that he was uncomfortable. She gently kneaded at his neck and shoulders, watching the markings sputter out where she touched; eventually they all dimmed and he relaxed heavily into the chair, reaching a drowsy arm up to touch her.

"Come on then," she said in response to the sleepy gesture. "It's late and we should get some rest."

He allowed her to take him by the hand and led him to her bed. It was nowhere near as large as his big, fluffy one - which she'd only been able to commandeer once - in fact, it was tiny in comparison, and only large enough to accommodate them both if they lay very close together.

Whatever fatigue had set in under her ministrations went away quickly as she settled in to face him and pulled a sheet over them; he smiled at her and ran a finger across her lips, then cupped her cheek in his hand. The heat in his eyes was unmistakable, and she leaned in to kiss him sweetly.

He would have none of that. He crushed her to him, running a possessive hand up and down the length of her back as he kissed her. She reciprocated, pressing her fingers into him and feeling the ridges of the scars where lyrium had been laid down, and wondering how the results of a ritual so barbaric could be so beautiful.

The rain pounded down outside, but in her little nest it was warm, dry, and cozy. All thoughts of sleep had fled at this point and Althaea was simply enjoying the feel of Fenris beside her, kissing and running his hands up and down. The little moans of pleasure he made as he did so only emboldened her to touch him more. She reached a hand into his trousers to dig her fingers into his backside; the motion made him gasp, and he took the gesture to mean he was welcome to reach under the shirt she was wearing and bring his fingers against her bare flesh.

He was beginning to glow again, very dimly. She never thought she'd get used to the feel of him when that happened, but rather enjoyed it. It was gentle, like the static electricity that sometimes built up when she rubbed the fabric of her skirts together; it made the small hairs where he touched stand on end.

She tried to ignore the insistent bulge that had manifested itself, pressing against the length of her thigh, but couldn't. She reached a hand down to address it. The motion drew a strangled moan from Fenris - from pain or pleasure she didn't know - so she made to pull the offending hand away and toward places she knew he found pleasurable instead. His eyes opened and stared directly into her, blazing; he took her hand and placed it back.

This was the farthest she'd ever gotten with him, and the farthest she'd been of her own accord since Marius, but she'd had plenty of experience since then. Memories tried to flood her mind, but she pushed them away, stripping them down to simply become _this is what makes a man feel good _and _I belong to me and no one else, I do what I choose and I choose this_. She reached into the trousers easily - they were unlaced, for that was the only way they'd fit him - and brushed an exploratory finger against the bare skin of him. She watched the way his brows knitted together and how he threw his head back, forgetting his own attentions, and felt a drop of his seed leak from him. Spreading it gently against his head elicited another of those strangled moans - those were new, but apparently not bad - and she smiled a bit into the flesh of his neck, bringing her tongue against one of the markings there as she wrapped her fingers around him and pumped him once, twice.

He bit his lip and gasped - the fingers rested on her back curled, digging into her, and he brought his lips down to hers for a fierce kiss.

"Please," he whispered as he tugged insistently at the hem of her shirt. She sat up enough to remove it, then sank back down. His fingers traced a line down her sternum, and back up to her collarbone. For the first time tonight, his hands felt inexperienced, green...unsure. He reached back to her shoulder, and she closed his eyes in dismay as he touched the scar of her brand and pulled away with one prim kiss on her forehead.

She sighed and she tried not to seem disappointed at the new development. They lay together a little while before she tried to initiate again, with no response.

"If there's something I've done wrong, Fenris, please tell me," she said as she carded her fingers through his silky white hair.

He kept his eyes shut, and shook his head. "I'm sorry," was all he said.

"Sorry for what? Please tell me. I don't know how much longer I can stand this."

He sat up, and she followed suit, forcing him to make eye contact with her. He sighed again, apparently trying to collect the words. "I feel that brand, and I think of all the things they've ever done to you, and I can't bear the thought of doing the same..." He buried his head in one hand. "I can't. I just...can't."

Her heart felt like it might burst. As much as she'd tried to rid herself of the legacy attached to that brand, it seemed to be stuck with her as surely as the scar. And now it seemed to have repulsed the only person who might have understood her enough to get past it...

She lay a kiss against his shoulder, causing the corner of his mouth to turn up. "You needn't worry about me, Fenris. I remember what it was like, before. I remember how it's supposed to feel, and how it isn't...and trust me when I say this doesn't feel wrong."

But the concern in his voice, that was something she hadn't heard in an age. There was no pity, no sanctimonious outpouring of love, just a stark sort of empathy. Almost as if...

_Oh, no._

She raised a hand up against her mouth to stem back the tide of bile that threatened to make its presence known. Her breathing sped up as the realization hit her and she was only able to utter one word: "Danarius."

In response, he tucked his head farther into his hands, nearly touching his forehead to his knees. She reached around him and laid kisses on his shoulders and back, rubbing gently as the man in front of her came undone and sobs racked his body. She murmured soft endearments, scratching at the nape of his neck, until he finally settled in her arms.

"Tell me what it is you want from me, Fenris," she whispered as she continued to drag a consoling hand up and down his spine. "Tell me, and I swear that if it's in my power, I'll give it to you."

He was quiet for a long while, the occasional hiccup erupting from him as he accepted her affections. She could barely reconcile this man in her bed with the one she'd seen months ago aboard the _Lifestyle _or even weeks ago on the way back down Sundermount. How long had he buried these feelings, and how had she managed to pull the strings so surely to tear him to pieces?

He seemed to be getting his composure back. He sat up and looked down at her with a certain something, she couldn't place it. Admiration? Gratitude? Desire? Perhaps it was a mix of all three.

He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, pinning her gaze with his. "I want you, Althaea. More than I've wanted almost anything...I just...I don't know how." He touched his forehead to hers, causing her to smile. "I've grown to crave your touch, your affection...everything. It terrifies me."

The utter honesty in his voice shook her to the core. _Oh, Maker, please keep me from becoming a spineless heap on the ground, _she prayed.

"They're yours," she said, and hugged him closely. It took a second, but he returned it, squeezing her as he did. His embrace was warm. Everything was warm. "We can move at whatever pace you want. You can push yourself, or not...it's up to you. I'm not going anywhere."

"This is...acceptable to you?" He seemed surprised by that.

"Of course it is. I value you too much to lose you to something so simple as a need for sex." She chuckled. "Great as it is right now, given your...ample charms."

He laughed at her obvious frustration, another of those great, rare chortles. She didn't imagine she'd ever get tired of that laugh. "Yours are rather plentiful as well, I must say."

He drew her in for a kiss, nuzzling her neck and giving a little nip that surprised her. "Are you sure you will be all right?"

"You are not Septimus." She forced certainty into her voice as she said it.

"Not in the least."

"Then yes, I will be fine, but let's make a promise to one another."

"I'm listening."

"Let's make sure we say something if one of us moves too far, or too fast."

"I can work with that," he said with a wide grin; it turned into a yawn. "But we should get to bed. It's rather late, and I'm rather tired."

She was inclined to agree, but got up and removed the trousers she was wearing before she lay back down next to a bemused Fenris. A minute or two later, he shimmied out of the too-tight borrowed pair of pants. "I wasn't very comfortable in them anyway," he rumbled as he spooned himself against her."You'll forgive me if I...uh..." He stopped.

Funnily enough, suave was not something he seemed to be able to pull off consciously, but she understood what he was trying to get at, and laughed at the awkward way he'd brought it up. "I'll resist all temptation until I have express permission from you to do anything about it."

"It's hardly something I can control, especially with someone as beautiful as you so close to me."

She blushed, but he couldn't see it. She'd never thought of herself that way, small and boyish as she he seemed to think so made her almost unbearably happy.

She let Fenris scoop her up into one arm, and made a pillow out of the other; bringing the sheet back up over them, she fell asleep to the sound of his breath against her ear and the rain beating outside the shuttered window. Tomorrow morning there'd be hell to pay, mud in the streets and all over her entryway, but tonight she'd just enjoy the slice of peace she never thought she'd get again.

* * *

Warmth was the first sensation Fenris was aware of as he woke; he was still wrapped around Althaea. They were both still naked as the Maker made them, and she still had her fingers threaded in the hand he'd wrapped around her when they'd first bedded down. He removed that hand now to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear; she mumbled and snuggled a little closer, but didn't wake.

The fire in the hearth had died out, but the coals were still red and provided just enough light for him to make the lines of her out. At first, the position had reminded him dimly of other, less pleasurable things, but he was able to push those thoughts away. They were naked, true, but he was holding her, she was much smaller than he, and she hadn't pressed him to perform any acts of service, the likes of which would have earned him the privilege of a bed in the first place. For the first time in his life, this intimacy was a gift freely given, and the thought of that was liberating to say the least.

He stroked her hair as he lay beside her. It wasn't quite all the way down, but tied back in a simple braid that seemed to be working its way loose as they slept. It was such a rare thing to see her out of the usual complicated coiffure; in fact, he thought he might have been the only person in years to see her hair in its natural, unstyled state. He had convinced her, once, to leave it mostly down for the day. The results had been astounding; her silky black tresses had hung all the way down to her waist. He had a curious urge to run his fingers through it, play with it and braid it, perhaps even help her wash it.

Now, there was a thought, and one he'd have to gather up the courage for, but definitely ripe for the asking. She'd eschewed the bathhouse long ago and insisted on commandeering his bath, often taking long soaks that seemed to last for hours. These events were usually preceded by a gift of wine or cheese, or both, but he'd have let her use it but for the asking. A small pile of toiletries had appeared on the table next to the gigantic bath, testament to the care she took in this particular task: candles, bath oils, delicately scented soaps, and big fluffy towels had wormed their way into the formerly stark chamber. He didn't mind, too much, and occasionally found himself sniffing at the soap while he performed his own washings.

He inhaled the lingering scent in her hair, now. He was familiar with it - she'd been wearing it since Val Royeaux - but it wasn't often that he could allow himself to catch anything more than a hint of it. He found it a comforting, floral scent, with just the hint of her underneath it that made it that much more real. He sat up a little on his elbow and she rolled onto her back with a grumble.

He was still a little surprised she'd chosen to allow him in her bed tonight. He'd have been happy on the floor, so long as he was close to her, but she wouldn't have any of it. He smiled at that. Her affections were so easily obtained - he'd even caught her squeezing the shoulder of Isabela, who had been jockeying for him and never seemed too happy about her ouster at Althaea's hands - but whenever she directed them toward him, he felt uncomfortable, unworthy. It had taken a while for him to understand them, and even longer to return them, albeit in his awkward, green way. He'd need to work on that, for sure. It was just that...touch...was never something he'd associated with anything but pain. Now that he was starting to find it pleasurable, he wasn't sure he could turn around. He'd lived in a desert of touch, and she was the oasis; he'd start drinking of her like a man dying of thirst, and he hoped the well of her affections was as deep as it looked.

He traced his fingers along the lines of her body. It was much easier to do when she was in this vulnerable state, and he had time to admire her at his leisure. She hadn't cast any illusions about having the kind of assets other women did; her breasts and hips were quite small, and she had a softness to her physique he doubted he'd ever find on Isabela, who was well-conditioned to a life of dueling and sailing. No, her body was far, _far_ more beautiful in its working grace than it would ever be in its composition.

If she could just apply a tenth of that to her dagger skills, she'd be poetry in motion on the field. She'd proven that when, in response to his gentle teasing at her unnecessary flourishes during his weapons lessons, she'd leaped across the length of his foyer. She'd crumbled in the last landing, but other than that, they'd seemed practically effortless, if a little out of practice. For a moment he regretted that she'd finished out too short for anything but an amateur career in dance, but he supposed he'd never have met her if she'd gone on to something like that. Her life would certainly have been easier. She'd have been shipped off to Orlais for professional training and none of the terrible things that'd been foisted on her would have ever happened. Septimus would never have taken that skill and warped it to his own base desires.

He was all too familiar with what slave dancing looked like, having seen plenty of it while standing impassive at Danarius's side. She'd have been bound and dressed in golden chains and ornate jewelry, wearing almost nothing other than that; some of the dancers he'd seen were made to toss veils or shake their hips so skirts and belts of coins jingled and jangled in time with the music being played. The only lucky thing about any of it was that slaves of this type were almost never considered whippable. Defacing their bodies would only devalue them, and she'd have been a talented dancer indeed. Septimus would never have risked the investment value of his 'gift'.

The joy in her face as she took those leaps had relieved him. Whatever she'd been made to do, she could still find some saving grace in the dance. Perhaps she'd teach him a trick or two; some of the jumps he'd seen the corps in Val Royeaux perform could potentially serve him well in battle.

He brought his hand down along the line of her hip. She chose that moment to arch herself into a languid stretch, jostling his hand and causing it to rest next to the thatch of hair above her sex; he removed it quickly, but she was thankfully still asleep. That moment was exciting, though it was far from forbidden, and he felt his desire blooming in response to the thought. He knew she wanted him that way, but he didn't know when he could work himself up to it. He was inexperienced at being on this end of the sexual equation and while he was familiar with the basics, he found himself fearing what seemed like an inevitable rebuff.

Who was he kidding? Protect her, hold her, carry things up and down stairs for her - these were things he could do, but would he ever really be able to open up and share in something so intimate? He knew it would be different than anything he'd ever experienced. Even what he'd had with her so far had felt damn near sacred, and it was something he didn't want to muck up any further than necessary. Perhaps he _should_ just go to Isabela and get the crash course out of the way, just so he wouldn't seem a bumbling idiot when the time came. She'd only be too happy to oblige.

No. She wouldn't mind his inexperience - he was sure of that - and she certainly wouldn't appreciate him bedding the pirate before she even got her chance at the proverbial apple. In recent days she'd made absolutely no bones about her attraction to him, and tonight when he'd worn her clothes to hilariously awkward end, the heat in her stare had been absolutely unmistakable, so much so that he'd sat as quickly as he could to hide his response. She'd likely just treat his inexperience with the quiet dignity she'd used when she'd first started teaching him to read, and gently guide him in the right direction, likely to their mutual pleasure. He thought of the way she'd wrapped her hand around him as they'd kissed earlier, and bit his lip as he felt himself swell even more; he was fully erect now, and wasn't sure if he should act on it.

She turned once more in her sleep to face him, and buried her head in his chest. Her leg pressed up against his length and the sensation was almost too much to bear; his markings flared at the overwhelming, sudden pleasure. _Venhedis, _he thought, taking deep breaths to control the light that pulsed from him.

Too late. Her eyes flew open just as he'd willed them into silence, and she said, cautiously, into the newfound darkness: "Fenris?"

"I'm here. Be still; there's nothing to be concerned about." He held her close, as if she might run away from fear any second.

"You lit up...it was so bright."

"I know. You...you touched me, my...in your sleep. I lost control. I'm sorry."

She knew his markings often reacted when he felt strong emotion. Which one would she associate this with?

"Are you sure everything's okay?" she asked him.

"I'm positive," he said. "Be still." He tucked that rogue curl of hair back behind her ear as she nuzzled up into his chest. That action brought his flagging erection back to life, and she whispered an almost silent _oh_ as she realized just what she'd done to merit his sudden flareup.

Maker help him, he was not going to let this opportunity pass him by. He'd promised himself he'd become the men he envied or die trying; now was as a good a time as any to make good on it.

He kissed the top of her head gently. She hadn't actually fallen asleep, and so she opened her eyes and smiled groggily up at him. He wasn't sure how to ask, but remembered how she'd looked at him when he'd placed her hand just where he'd wanted it; he did just that, and watched the comprehension blooming in her face.

"I want to try," he whispered into her ear. She nodded, and wrapped her hand around him as she had before, repositioning herself to kiss him deeply as she moved her hand up and down his length.

It felt nothing at all like his own touches, which were perfunctory almost to the point of being brutal - he could take care of his own needs, and did so on a regular basis, but the ritual had always lacked finesse. Her touch was firm, but still slow and sensual.

It would prove to be too much and he didn't want to lose his nerve to go all the way, so he removed her hand again. He placed her hand on his and moved to the junction between her legs. If her soft sighs and moans were any indication, she didn't mind one bit, but he didn't know where to go from there, so he settled his hand on the soft mound of her and gathered up the temerity to ask for help.

"I want to touch you, but...I don't know how." That admission was almost too hard to utter, but she smiled up at him and guided his hand into the moist folds of her, directing a finger to swirl around a hardening pearl of flesh hidden there. When she removed her hand and he continued, her brows knitted together and she shuddered, digging her nails into his shoulders as he continued to bring his fingers around in the pattern she'd showed him.

He kissed her as he continued to explore, feeling how the moisture of her began to accumulate around his questing fingers. He tried to listen to the sounds of her, to try and see if there was something she liked, specifically, but the pounding of his blood in his ears made everything else too quiet to hear.

If he didn't do this now, he'd never do it, he was sure of it. He pressed all his lingering doubt and worry to the back of his mind and rotated her onto her back, continuing to lay kisses on her neck and collarbone. If he could just get past this, there'd be plenty of time for lazier exploration.

"Are you sure?" she asked him, raising a hand up to his cheek, and brushing gently around the long line of his ear, a motion that made him quiver with pleasure.

"Yes," he breathed. "_Venhedis,_ Althaea, I want this more than anything."

She gazed deeply into his eyes as she moved her legs to either side of him and took his length in hand, guiding him toward her entrance. His hands tangled up in the sheets as he pressed into her.

It was nothing like he'd thought it might be, not the way his hands or hers felt, and definitely not the way it had been when she'd ridden him in his dream. He sank as deeply into her as he could, gasping for air and closing his eyes tightly. He was already so close, and he didn't want it to be over yet, didn't want it to be over, ever; he pulled away and thrust again as soon as he realized she wasn't scared, wasn't in pain. Everything was as it should be, and Maker help him, she was smiling, she was asking for more -

He was falling apart. She was so soft, everything about her was soft, and she burned at the core where he continued to bury himself, gritting his teeth against the inevitable rush that signaled his oncoming orgasm. Then she arched her back and started to meet his thrusts with her own movements. When she hooked her legs around the small of his back, deepening his entry, he couldn't hold it any longer and had to let go.

It was bliss, perfection, a cloud behind his eyes, and he spilled into her with a shudder and a curse in Arcanum. He continued to follow through until he settled into her chest, gasping like he might drown. She was breathing heavily too, murmuring his name, and he could feel her heart beating insistently against her chest as she carded her fingers through his hair and scratched his back gently.

"Oh, _Maker_," was all she said as he rolled off her and she curled up against him, drawing lazy swirls against his chest markings. At some point they'd begun to shine again - he hadn't even realized it - but they quieted at her touch. It felt like water, warm and soothing against his scarred skin, and he reveled in the feeling of it.

"Well?" she asked as she lay next to him. He chuckled.

"It was..." he sighed and fumbled for the words. "It was better than anything I could have dreamed."

"Mmm." Her happy little murmur echoed against him as he drew her close, smiling into her hair.

"Thank you," he said, and stole her words. Maker knew they were appropriate. "That was a gift I'll treasure."

He kissed her forehead as he curled around her again and finally started drifting to sleep. The storm outside continued to pour down in sheets, but in this little home of hers, he was warm and dry.

Here in her arms, he was safe. If he did nothing else, he'd make sure she always felt the same way.


	13. Returning the Favor

**A/N: **Stole some canon convo but Hawke isn't using it so what the hell. **Warnings** are here for implied rape and unscrupulous uses of the enslaved.

And of course since it's been a while, the concept and character of Althaea Serra belong to me, EVERYTHING else belongs to Bioware.

It's their sandbox. I just play in it.

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN - RETURNING THE FAVOR**

Althaea woke, smiling, in what seemed to be early afternoon. It was the latest she'd woken in a while. Fenris was nowhere to be found.

How had she slept through him leaving? She sighed, praying that this wouldn't be an awkward morning after. She'd never be able to face him down after this, if it was. It had all gone so well...

She got up and headed to the basin. There was enough water in it for a good morning's wash, which she did, then stood at the counter with a breakfast of an apple, nuts, and bread. She left her hair down, only braiding enough to keep the front end out of her eyes, and opted for a shortish gown and well-oiled boots. It was going to be a wet morning, and even wetter still, since she would have to head to Darktown.

When she passed the table, making ready to leave for the day, she saw a small slice of paper resting there. She might have missed it if it weren't tucked underneath the vase. She looked curiously at the new object. _A note._

A note?!

She couldn't decide if she should be offended or overjoyed. On the one hand, Fenris had left without a word, without waking her up, nothing. On the other, he'd obviously cared enough to hunt through her mess for a piece of paper and a writing implement, then sound the chosen words out and commit them to a page.

It was simple and written in a childlike scrawl, but her heart swelled with pride when she looked at it.

_Be bak soon. -F_

She had too much to do to stay home, though. Hopefully she'd run into him at some point during the day or he'd have the presence of mind to come and find her in the chantry. She folded the piece of paper up and put it in her coin purse, smiling, and departed.

* * *

Darktown was as bad as ever, but the added complication of high water made everything that much worse. There were a few places where she'd had to tiptoe over larger than usual puddles, and one scare in which she'd had to remove her dagger and eye a suspicious looking man threateningly.

If there was one thing Fenris had taught her in his lessons, it was that the illusion of proficiency was sometimes just as powerful as the proficiency itself. Her would-be assailant raised his hands up placatingly, and she walked past with no issues.

She reached her destination, and the lantern outside was on. _Good_. She cracked the door open and entered the clinic quietly.

It was completely empty, which she found odd given the massive popularity of the apostate's services. He never charged more than any person could afford to pay. Most of the Chantry sisters knew about his clinic and looked the other way - it was the Templars who were consistently trying to bang down his doors. She hoped he was familiar with the difference.

She took another couple of steps in, then stopped when she felt a swirl of something in front of her. _Trap._ But not a conventional trap, a magical one. She took a half-step back.

"Anders?" she called out. "It's Althaea."

A little ball of light came around the corner, vibrating with unspent energy. It was clearly overjoyed to be in the Real, and she got the feeling it was inspecting her. It left as quickly as it came. _A wisp!_ Gaius used to summon them all the time, or at least he did until one had a mind to tangle itself in Victoria's hair and terrify the living daylights out of her. They weren't all exactly friendly.

Anders came around the corner a second later. He'd probably called the thing to get a look at her before he felt safe enough to come out. Pointing his staff in her direction, he loosed a small bit of mana, deactivating the trap in front of her, and she stepped forward.

"Nice wisp," she said, as nonchalantly as she could.

"You know what it is?" He seemed surprised. "And you're not afraid of it."

"As far as I've learned, wisps are fairly...neutral. They're not really smart enough to have motivation beyond what you give them."

"Never thought I'd hear Chantry educated in spirit lore. Or magical traps, for that matter."

She chose her next words carefully. "We had a rather large collection of books on magic, and I think I might have read through all of them. My brother used to summon wisps all the time. He was smart enough to keep it at that. Last I checked, anyway."

"Curiouser and curiouser." Anders snapped his fingers, and the wisp blinked out of existence. She was a little sad to see it go. "But it's a long way for you to come to Darktown. What can I do for you?"

She wasn't sure how to ask for what she'd come down for in the first place. "I, uh, know you're fairly knowledgeable in herb lore. I thought perhaps you could tell me where I could find these things..." she pulled paper out of her pocket with the names of six herbs, a specific mixture of which was popular among Septimus's slave women as a prophylactic. She supposed she could have asked the potioneer in Lowtown, but trusted Anders more; this mixture was not exactly the type she'd want to be missing a critical ingredient.

She'd almost handed the paper over when she realized it was Fenris's scrawled note instead; she blushed and reached back in, handing over the proper sheet. Anders raised an eyebrow and smiled. She hoped he hadn't seen the note. If he mocked Fenris with the contents, she worried he might never write another.

He scanned the short list, then eyed her with a teasing smile. "Althaea, this is -"

"I know what it is, Anders," she interrupted, getting more uncomfortable by the second.

"How long ago?" he asked.

She was sure she was beet red by now. "Last night. I didn't think..."

"No, you clearly didn't," he tutted at her.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "No, I mean, I really didn't think it would happen. Then all of a sudden it did and if I didn't, I think he would have lost his nerve, and I've been counting, and I think it should be okay, and I'm blathering now, aren't I?"

"You must have picked that talent up from Merrill." She didn't know why Anders set her so on edge, when by all rights she should have had tense relations with the blood mage, instead. She supposed it had all started with that first, angry set of words when they'd met. "That being said, he should have better than to...never mind."

Should have better than to...what? To not pull out? He couldn't have known that, but Anders didn't need to know that Fenris didn't know where _babies_ came from.

He clapped a hand on her shoulder. Why must all the men among Hawke's companions be so _big_? Even Anders, who was the strictest interpretation of mage among them, seemed to be a head taller than her and made of solid muscle. "I know just the thing," he said. He gestured for her to follow him to a cabinet full of various tinctures and loose herbs. "Catslipper and dragon's tongue aren't too common in these parts - it's too cold for them to grow well. This list strikes me as more of a fishwife's remedy. Where did you get it?"

"It was in common use in Marnus Pell...among the comfort girls." She couldn't make eye contact with him. "As far as I know, it worked rather well."

He was clearly trying to hide his pity, and she was glad for it. "It might have, it might not. There are...things...that can be done if the first measures fail. They might have been more common than you think."

The mixture had never failed her, but she didn't feel the need to say it. He probably already assumed, but to admit such a thing out loud, to anyone besides Fenris...there was no way that would happen.

Anders continued to dig through the cabinet, finally pulling out several bunches of herbs, then walked to a table with a mortar and pestle. "I don't know why I don't keep a ready supply of this, seeing as I'm asked for it so often. It'll be just a few minutes."

He began to measure and grind, talking as he went. He was different here, every inch the professional. She was beginning to understand why the refugees liked him so much. "This mixture is a little different, but you'll find it's got the same effects. There may be a little nausea, at first, especially if it's been a while since you've used it last. If that happens, just come back and we'll get you sorted." He packed the finished mixture into an envelope and handed it to her with a kindly smile. She nodded her thanks.

"How much is it?" she asked.

"I never ask for payment, but if you can spare a donation I'd appreciate it. I can always use supplies and there just never seems to be enough coin to go around."

She smiled. For all his sanctimonious opinions, he was actually a genuinely selfless man, and committed to his patients at the very least. And so, so tired. She could see it in the way he held himself.

"You're looking at me funny," he said.

"This is all very kind of you, you know that." She gestured around at the clinic.

Now it was his turn to blush. "I consider it a calling."

She reached into her coin purse. The contents were meant for a nice bottle of brandy at the Hanged Man tonight, but suddenly, that didn't seem as important. She put the golden sovereign in his hand, closing his fingers around it. His eyes grew wide as she did.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked her.

"The sovereign? Absolutely, it's just _coin_-"

"No, not the coin," he interrupted. "I'd never turn down coin. About...about Fenris."

She might have been offended if he didn't look so genuinely concerned. "Why would I be unsure about it?"

"I know you and I...we don't exactly see eye to eye. But _he_ seems less a man to me and more a wild dog." He ended lamely.

"That was uncalled for, Anders." She made her voice as gentle as she could without losing the emphasis on just how badly the statement had angered her.

"I'm sorry. I know it isn't my place to criticize. I just...you seem like two radically different people. He's let one bad experience color his whole world, and you seem to have turned out okay for it...surely you don't want someone more open-minded?"

She wasn't sure she wanted to discuss this with him. "If you knew him a little better, you might realize he and I are more alike than you think."

"I know as much about him as I'm likely to ever know."

She smiled at him. "Then...just know that at his core, he's a good man. Lost - Maker, so lost - but maybe almost found."

"Surely you don't think you can fix him," said Anders.

Althaea laughed. "Maker, no. That would be foolish of me, and I've got my own share of problems to work out. But sometimes...sometimes it's enough just to be lost together. Do you understand what I mean?"

Anders nodded thoughtfully. "Actually, I believe I do. More than you might ever know." He pocketed the sovereign. "Just a pinchful of that in your tea, Althaea. And take care you have it about the same time every day."

"Thank you, Anders."

"And if you find...if you find it doesn't work...come to me, and we can talk about your options."

"I hardly think that would be necessary."

He grimaced. "I just...you know, I never thought I liked you much, until today. And now, well, I'd hate for you to be hurt."

"Leave that worry to me," she said, though she was thinking if her and Fenris's current arrangement were to continue, they'd have to have a serious heart to heart about such things. She shook Anders's hand and left the clinic, bound and determined to get some work done before the day was through.

* * *

She was working barefoot in the library. Fenris eyed the pair of muddy boots sitting next to the foot of the stairs when he walked in and shook his head with a chuckle.

Did she not get his note? Maybe she didn't understand it, he wasn't sure he'd spelled any of the words right. He'd woken up quite early and wanted to wash up and get his armor cleaned before the blood in it set, and so he'd left and come back in the early afternoon. There was no answer at the door, so he'd picked the lock by phasing a hand into the mechanism, and found the place empty.

His assumption had been correct. For a wild second he worried that she'd been abducted or worse - but she had talked about getting some more work done at some point and he knew he could almost always find her here. And here she was.

He walked the stacks until he found her, on a stepstool and reaching uselessly toward the top shelf with what looked like a very heavy book. There was no way she was going to get it up there, but he admired her tenacity.

_Iadla koné, _he thought as he looked on her_. _She'd left her hair down for the day, he noted with some pleasure, and the dress she was wearing was less modestly cut than he was used to seeing. The hem only went down to her knees. He moved toward her as she continued to struggle, then cleared his throat.

Despite the effort, he still startled her. "Oh!" she exclaimed as she caught the book in her hands, then turned around and saw who had surprised her. Her face transformed from a frown to a smile full of warmth. "_Avanna_, Fenris."

"_Avanna._ Let me help you with that." But instead of putting the book up on the shelf for her, he put his load down and lifted her by the waist so she could reach.

When he put her down, she brushed the dust off her hands. "Thank you," she said, blushing. On the top step of the stool, she stood with him, eye to eye.

"Always a pleasure." He placed a kiss on her forehead. Why was she so suddenly bashful?

"I got your note," she said, beaming. "I'm sorry I didn't stay. I just had so much to take care of."

"Did I spell everything right?"

"You were missing the _c _in 'back' but other than that, it was masterfully done. I'm very happy to see it."

"I thought that didn't look right. I shall endeavor to spell more correctly from here on out."

"You don't have to do that," she said with a giggle. "That you're writing at all is just amazing. You're catching on quickly."

"I learned from the best," he said, picking up the small set of flowers he'd placed on the floor. "These, uh...these came into bloom in the garden this morning. I thought they'd look nice in your vase." Ugh. What use would she ever have for these, outside of that damned vase? He should have left them when he picked the lock. Now she'd be saddled with them all day.

Her eyes grew wide. "Heliotrope," she breathed. "And Andraste's Grace."

"I thought to leave them at your house, but you weren't home."

"Not a worry," she said. "I know just what to do with them. She crossed over to her desk and sat, then wove the tiny blooms into her braids. "There. Is everything settled properly?"

He stepped behind her to inspect her handiwork, and corrected a couple of the wayward stems. "It is now."

"Thank you, Fenris. They're beautiful." She embraced him, and he returned it easily, much to his surprise. He was beginning to enjoy the ease of it, even if she was the only person it extended to.

Now that he had a chance to look properly, he was rather glad he hadn't left them in the vase. He took up his slate and chalk and sat down in his usual spot across the desk from her. "I noticed your boots in the landing," he said.

"And _I_ noticed that you've got a pair of filthy paws for feet," she said. "It's rather nasty out from all the flooding. Darktown's even worse."

"What were you doing in Darktown?" _And more importantly, why did you not wait for me to take you? You could have been killed!_

"I...uh...went to go visit the clinic." She twiddled a strand of hair.

"You went to go visit the abomination," he said.

"Hush, Fenris, not so _loud_ - wait. Abomination?"

She didn't know.

"You heard me. The man is only half himself. He merged with a demon years ago, claiming it was a spirit of Justice."

"Huh." It was the vocal equivalent of a thoughtful, if noncommittal shrug. What was wrong with her?

"That doesn't frighten you? Knowing you were alone in Darktown with an apostate and his pet demon?"

"This may bother you a little, Fenris, but he seemed just a man to me."

"Paugh. Pray you never anger his passenger. I've seen what it's capable of." He wanted to blaze and rage at her. For everything magic had ever done to ruin her life, she still managed to hold on to her dangerous acceptance of it, and the abomination in turn!

"I've upset you."

"Of course you have, Althaea! I can't see you hurt, and you can never know when he will turn on you! You cast yourself into the vipers' nest, and expect you'll come out without a bite!"

She shushed him and laid a hand on his arm, cooling his towering rage. "I know you mean the best, Fenris, but in this, you must trust me. I wasn't sure I liked him either, but his clinic does a _lot_ of good. Can you not appreciate that?"

He did appreciate it. He and the mage could constantly be at each other's throats, but if things got serious, Anders's healing powers could turn a battle in their favor.

"You and your logic," he groused, sighing. She laughed, and kissed the hand she was holding, an action that made his blood burn and his lip curl up in a lustful smile. He was sure he'd be nigh insatiable, now that he'd managed to work his way past that wall. He shook away the feeling. "You didn't mention why you went. Did I...injure you?" Maker, he hoped not.

"No, nothing like that. I just...I thought of something. I know you've never had a woman before, so I didn't realize you wouldn't be familiar with some of the...steps that should be taken, when you want to...uh...consummate, but not procreate."

His heart stopped. He knew the basics, yes, but he hadn't even given that a thought in his passion...oh no.

He didn't have his own life under control, he was constantly living in fear of Danarius's return, and what if he complicated his own life with another string for the magister to pull? Bad enough that if Danarius ever caught wind of his fondness for Althaea, he'd never have qualms about using her against him. But, a child? _His _child? _Theirs_? That would be a hundredfold worse. No, infinitely worse.

It wasn't that the idea of a child with her would be completely out of the question. But they were so _new_. That wasn't a jump he was willing to make, not yet, not for a _long_ time, and _certainly_ not before he had Danarius's steaming heart in his hands.

She must have seen the dawning terror in his face, because she laughed and squeezed his hands. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "What I was going to say is that I procured some herbs that would help in about a month, but until then, if we...if we're to continue this, you shouldn't stay inside when you...at the end. That's all."

His sigh of relief could have been heard through the entire library, and she giggled and reached over the desk to give him another kiss. "Come on, we should get you started if you're ever to finish in time to play cards tonight."

He deepened the kiss, feeling the heat boil up in him again as he did so. What a shame it would be if she were to tire and take her leave early tonight. He'd be disappointed, but would be more than happy to walk her home.

* * *

It was busier in the Hanged Man than usual, owing to the presence of a largeish complement of Rivaini sailors in town. Having let go of the last of her coin, Althaea had attempted to forgo drinking for the evening, but it wasn't long before Fenris noticed she was sticking to water.

"Is something wrong?" he asked her. "You're not having anything."

"I spent my coin in Darktown this morning. There's more at home, but we were running late." She neglected to mention that there wasn't much there, either, but she'd have another purse at the end of the week, so she wasn't terribly worried about it.

"Let me treat you."

"I'll be fine, really."

Fenris was having none of it and ordered her an ale anyway. She was defeated, but didn't mind too much; she knew he was just off a job and likely feeling flush.

She drew the line, however, at letting him buy her into the card game for the evening. Three tankards of ale later, she found herself sitting next to Merrill, who was terrible at bluffing and had stopped trying ages ago.

"Your hair looks lovely today, Althaea," she said. "The flowers are a nice touch."

"They bloomed this morning in Fenris's garden. They're nice, aren't they?"

Merrill made a little gasp of excitement, then leaned in Fenris's direction. "Fenris, you have a garden?"

"Yes, Merrill, I have a garden." The voice across the table was patiently amused, and a little drunk.

"May I come sit in it?"

"No, you may not." There was laughter around the table.

Merrill pouted for a few minutes before turning back to Althaea. "Do you think I can have some of the flowers, Althaea? Only I miss them so much. Flowers, I mean."

Althaea had packed her braids full of the blooms and they'd get crushed when she went to bed for the night, so she was happy to oblige. The ale had warmed her and she found herself basking in the company, even if she wasn't saying much.

"You always have such pretty braids. I get jealous."

"Why don't you grow your hair out, then? I'm sure it'd look nice if you did." She took her hands to Merrill's hair and played with one of the twisted locks.

"It's so hard to take care of. I've wondered, really, why you don't cut yours."

"Because she'd look like a boy if she did," called Isabela from her seat at the table. "Poor girl needs all the help she can get, don't you, Muffin?"

"That's not very nice, Bela," said Merrill. Althaea tried her best to shake the comment off. This wasn't the first snide comment the pirate had made in her direction. Maker. At least _Anders's_ animosity was somewhat justified.

"Well, look at her - no tits, no arse, only saving grace is the hair." She made eye contact with Althaea. "Not that it isn't very nice hair, or anything."

Althaea sighed, rolled her eyes, and turned back to Merrill. She wondered if Fenris had heard the exchange. Probably not - he looked completely engrossed in the hand being played. She lowered her voice to a near whisper. If Isabela caught wind of this, she'd never hear the end of it.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Merrill. Nine...? No, eight years ago, my hair was shorn against my will, and it stayed that way until I left Tevinter. If it's ever cut again, it will be at nobody's behest but mine, and...I'm not ready yet. So - long it stays."

"That's a pretty story. You should tell it to Varric."

She laughed. "If I told Varric, it wouldn't be a secret."

"My take!" Fenris yelled, as he threw down his hand and pulled a sizeable pile of gold in his direction. The other players groaned and Isabela tossed her hand away in disgust.

"You've got the next round, elf," spat Varric. "That's the biggest pot I've had with you sods."

He obliged, ordering a bottle of good rum for the table, which was soon divided up into small glasses along it.

Hawke, red in the face from his own portion, called out a toast. "To health, money, and time enough to enjoy them!"

Althaea, who was fairly inebriated as well, remembered an old Antivan toast she'd always liked. "Que seamos felices por siempre!"

The clink of glasses was followed by the acrid tang of straight alcohol, and another hand of cards started along the table. Fenris moved to where she was sitting.

"You know Antivan, Althaea?" asked Hawke, who was dealing this round.

"Did my name not give you any clues?"

"I figured you used it arbitrarily."

"No, it's my mother's maiden name. I was always more comfortable with it. She taught me Antivan." She sipped at her ale and watched Fenris's hand while the next round was played. He was sitting comfortably close to her, much closer than he ever had before. She'd wondered whether he might have an issue with more public affections. This was much closer than they'd ever sat during their nights out at the tavern, but not nearly enough for her to justify, say, giving him a kiss or putting a hand on his lap as he played.

Better to let him lead the way on this one. These were his friends, after all, and she didn't have to spend the majority of her time with them.

"You know, if you're fluent I really could use you for something day after tomorrow," said Hawke, rather hopefully.

"If it involves fighting, the answer is 'no'."

"Hmm, shouldn't involve fighting, but if I were you I'd wear my armor anyway."

"The answer is 'no', then."

"But -"

"Leave her alone, Hawke," said Isabela. For a second Althaea's heart raced. After all the snide comments, the pirate was standing up for her? Bizarre.

"She's pretty much useless anyway," she said. No, too much to hope for. She felt Fenris stiffen next to her, but she squeezed his arm and he said nothing.

Hawke gave Anders a meaningful look, but only said "Fine." A small group of the Rivaini sailors struck up a tune. It was played on funny pipes and drums, and entirely too familiar for Althaea's comfort.

The pirate perked up. "I love this song!" She got up and dragged Merrill out of her seat to dance with her.

The song continued as the hand of cards did. Isabela looked completely at home in the corner where she stood, gyrating her hips seductively and teaching Merrill how to do the same, then gestured for Althaea to join.

No, no, absolutely not, no way, no how. If she could have dug herself into the bench, she would have, and she stared resolutely in the other direction.

"Don't be a stick in the mud, Muffin, come up and dance!"

"I don't dance."

Hawke, who was now pretty sodding close to roaring drunk, looked at her. "Bullshit - Fenris says you do."

"I don't dance like _that_!"

"Prude!" Isabela called from her corner.

She wasn't a prude, not by any meaning of the word, but in her mind she was clothed in a dress made of golden coins, collared and chained and... the sound of the music, the tavern, the people, the boys playing their hand of cards, everything - _everything_ - was suddenly claustrophobic. Even the warmth of Fenris's frame next to her was too much. She got up and stumbled toward the exit, where sweet fresh air awaited, and home. Home would be good right about now.

The night air was as comforting as she'd hoped it would be. She took great lungfuls of it, thanking the Maker she hadn't retched inside the bar - she had been so close to it - and sunk down against the outer wall, collecting herself.

Fenris wasn't far behind, but thankfully, he didn't move to hold her or touch her. He simply sat on his haunches in front of her, peering into her eyes.

He knew, and he understood. This was the first time for years she hadn't been able to control it, the swirling roil of memories that threatened to consume her. She watched him go through this every day, though it seemed easier for him.

She thought she was over it, over all of this. She thought she'd had it under control, but apparently that was too much to ask.

"I was a fool," she said to him, finally. "I was a fool to think I could leave any of this behind."

"No," he said simply, and reached his hand out to her in a silent offer.

Those five tanned fingers clad in lyrium were a lifeline, thrown out to her as she was drowning in a sea of emotion. He knew, he understood, and he was letting the choice be hers. She reached for him and let him lift her to her feet, and she buried her face in his chest as he held her.

There were no tears, only relief at the receding swirl of it all.

"Let's go home," he said to her, only he led her up the stairs to Hightown, to his home, not hers. The study was warm, the hole in the roof was patched, and the bed had been piled high with fluffy down pillows and sheets. He sat her on the edge and dug through one of his trunks for a silken nightshirt.

"You took all the female clothes," he said as he handed it to her, then turned his back so she could change into it.

This was his shirt. Not just his, but the one he wore at night. It smelled faintly - of him, of leather, and somehow, a little bit of pine - and she donned it gratefully. He helped her get into the ridiculously large bed and sat at the edge of it, holding her hand.

"Are you coming?" She looked up at him, and his concerned gaze softened as she did. She knew how it sounded, almost a plea, but she didn't care. He knew, he understood.

He smiled and went back to the trunk for another shirt, a different one, then changed into it, not bothering to hide himself from her.

By the time he climbed into the bed, she was half asleep, muddled from the beer and the music and the noise of the tavern. He stretched himself out along her and she had a funny feeling of being tucked between a guardian's paws.

'_Little wolf'._ Danarius was an idiot to give him the moniker. Fenris was anything but _little_. He was fierce and wild and loyal and brave, and Maker help anyone that tried to hurt her while he was within eyeshot.

_Her_ wolf.

No. He didn't belong to anyone, and she was sure the sentiment would rankle him if she ever so much as breathed the words. That she understood, especially from someone who had no memory before being a slave.

Regardless, she was here, and he was tucked behind her, and she felt...safe. Right. She turned around a little, and kissed him, doing her best to put her relief and her utter gratefulness into it.

His return wordlessly said all the things she was hoping he'd say, and she finally cast herself into sleep, knowing that no harm would come to her while he was at her side.

* * *

Somehow, despite all the various permutations of the word "no" she could have used, Althaea found herself in full harness, walking along the Wounded Coast with Hawke, Anders, and...Isabela.

Why Hawke had insisted on bringing this woman along, she had no idea. All she knew was that the man had finally resorted to calling in his favor, and she really had no choice but to oblige him, pirate or no.

They were headed to a series of caves that were once used by Tevinter slavers, back when Kirkwall had been under the control of the Imperium, for an early dawn meeting with some potential Antivan sympathizers of the local mage underground. Althaea was to sneak around their end of the camp and have a listen for anything untoward. Dear Maker. If the chantry ever found out about her participation in this, Isabela's current line of conversation would be the last thing on her mind.

"So...Fenris is pretty big, for an elf." Althaea had tried to keep as far out of the way as possible, but Isabela had managed to sidle up to her anyway, first complimenting her on her armor and inspecting her bow as it hung across her shoulder, commenting on the Dalish engraving on the grip. When she'd finally acknowledged Isabela's presence, the conversation had gotten farther and farther from the realm of what made Althaea comfortable...and now this.

"Yes..."

"And you're pretty small, for a human."

"I _don't_ like where this is going."

"I'm just wondering, really, how well that's worked out." Isabela laughed as she watched the color burn into Althaea's cheeks. Even her freckles felt like they might be red. "I've been with a few elves, and they've all been a bit on the small side, but I don't imagine our tattooed wonder has that problem."

_Ours?_ _He's as much '__**ours**'__ as __**I **__am the Imperial Archon. _"I am not having this conversation with you." _Not now, not ever._

"It's just, well, Muffin, you have the look of the freshly fucked about you, and believe me when I say 'it took long enough'. I figured you'd know better than anyone." She preened herself a bit as they walked. "I just wanted to know. You know, for reference."

She really only had one frame of reference, really. Marius was the only other elf she'd been with. He hadn't been much taller than her, but he'd been...proportionate, and pleasantly so, at least to her callow, teenaged mind. Septimus and his human cronies had run the gamut from ridiculously small to painfully large, one of them so much so that she'd felt like she might be torn apart by his attentions...she pushed that thought away, shuddering, and thanked the Maker that one of the house slaves in Marnus Pell had actually been quite skilled in healing magic.

Fenris, though...she thought about it for a second. He was quite a bit taller than she, fine-boned but broader of shoulder than most of the elves she'd known. He was definitely stronger than he looked, and heavier to boot. But when he'd finally entered her, he'd fit perfectly. The effect had been more than satisfying, and she found herself smiling as she relived that night, and the night after.

That being said, that was not information she'd ever share, with Isabela least of all. She'd try wit, first. "I only disclose such things on a need-to-know basis."

"If there was anyone who ever needed to know, dear heart, it's me."

"The answer is _no_, Isabela."

"But -"

"Back_ off._" Whoa. It'd been _years_ since she'd heard that tone of voice out of herself.

The pirate actually laughed. "Or _what_? You'll punch me flat? Muffin, there's only one lady I'll take that tone from and she's a woman-shaped battering ram."

Althaea sighed and stopped dead in her tracks. "What is your _problem_? I have done exactly _nothing _to bother you and you somehow seem to have made it your personal quest to find and _push_ all of my buttons." She muttered a string of colorful Arcanum swears under her breath. "Just leave me alone." She stalked off, feeling rather put out.

"Killjoy!" cried Isabela from where she'd been left.

Small, defenseless, bookish, _worthless._ It was no wonder why nobody seemed to take her seriously.

Not for the first time today, she'd wished Fenris was here. He'd almost had something to say two nights before at the Hanged Man, but she'd given Isabela the benefit of the doubt, attributing her comments to the drink. Now she wished she hadn't.

She sighed, uncomfortably walking a few steps behind Hawke and Anders, not saying a word. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long before they arrived at their camping spot and bedded down for the night.

* * *

It wasn't too cold, the moon was full, and Althaea had chosen a nook in the rock a little ways away from the campfire to lay her bedroll down. Her mind had been pleasantly blank for a while and the stars were out in force, and she'd wrapped her solitude around her like a warm, fluffy blanket.

It hadn't lasted too long. Anders had walked her way with a steaming cup of something and a warmed sandwich from Hawke's pack. Dinner for the night, apparently.

"Say what you will about camping rough, but we've got our own style," he said as he handed the food to her. She smiled up at him and took a small sip out of the cup.

"Cider!" she said.

"That it is. Non-alcoholic, I'm afraid, but we'll just have to make do. May I sit?"

She was sure she'd be conversed out after the events of the day, but the last thing she wanted to do was break the tenuous companionship she'd found in the mage in the last few days. "Feel free to pull up a rock," she said.

"Thanks," said Anders, sitting comfortably on the ground beside her.

"My family owned orchards," said Althaea as she sipped delicately at the cider. "Apple and peach wine were our specialities. They were two of the biggest fads in Minrathous for a while." She sighed.

"You miss it."

"With all my heart."

She curled her legs up, placing the sandwich plate in her lap. "You'd have done well there, I think."

"In Tevinter?"

She mumbled a yes through a mouthful of sandwich. Maker, where did her manners go? She swallowed. "Yes. You're reasonably talented and not too bad looking. If you'd found the right magister, you'd have been picked up as an apprentice rather quickly, so long as you didn't mind trading your hide for it."

"I'm assuming that's common there."

"It is and it isn't. Either way, it's one of the least offensive traditions I've seen."

"The others being blood magic and slavery, I imagine."

She nodded. "I never really realized how...pervasive they were until I lived in Marnus Pell. Things are different in the South. The people are more grounded, I think. There wasn't so much intrigue or plays for power. Even our slaves had honored places in our home, though I wasn't supposed to fraternize with them. We just...existed, I suppose, producing powerful wine and powerful mages, and that was okay with _adda_ for the longest time. "

"You loved your father."

"I did, yes, very much."

"Why do you think he...?" Anders couldn't quite put it into words, but Althaea understood.

"I don't know. I try not to think about it. It...doesn't help anything."

"Did you ever think about asking him?"

"_Maker,_ no! He thinks I'm _dead_, and I'd like to keep it that way." She shuddered to think of what might happen if she just up and decided to show herself in Minrathous one day. "No, I'm much safer here, thanks be to the Maker and the Chantry."

"It's nice to hear they've done _some _good," said Anders. Althaea hummed agreement and dipped the last piece of bread in the leftover juice from the sandwich. "That wasn't why I came over to sit, though."

"Oh?"

"I heard your conversation with Isabela."

"Oh." She supposed it hadn't been all that quiet, but Hawke and Anders had been having their own conversation ahead of them and she thought it had gone unnoticed by both.

"I don't think I've ever seen her butt heads with someone so much," he laughed. "Besides Aveline, that is."

"Yes, well, I have no idea what I did to deserve it. You at least I understood."

"Me?"

"Yes!"

"What about me?"

"Well -" Althaea put her plate and cup down beside her - "At least with you, there was a reason. You thought I'd have the same ideas about mages and magic that Fenris had, because of my association with him, and even more so because of my association with the Chantry."

"Ah." He cocked a smile, a rather warm one. "Well, I thought you should know that there is a good reason for Isabela, too."

"Oh, do tell, because I've been losing _so_ much sleep over it."

"I'm sensing sarcasm."

"You're sensing right, but let's hear it anyway. Maybe it's something I can fix."

Anders laughed. "Not likely. You see, she'd had her eye on Fenris since he showed up in Kirkwall, and he was proving a tough nut to crack. Then _you_ showed up and well...I suppose she really doesn't have a chance any more, does she?"

"Not unless we go our separate ways, no." Suddenly it all made sense. She smirked and shook her head. "I do wish she'd lay off, though."

"Oh, she will," said Anders. "Hawke had a chat with her when you decided to bed down so far away from everyone. So it won't happen again, not with either of us around."

Althaea knew perfectly well she looked like she was pouting. "I wish she'd have left me alone without anyone's help, but I appreciate it."

"Sure. And I never did voice my thanks for helping out with this. I figured the second Hawke said 'mage underground' you'd have turned tail and walked away."

"Well, I _do_ owe Hawke a favor."

"Hmm." His tone of voice suggested he thought that wasn't the only reason she was helping, but she didn't correct him.

"Thanks for the food, Anders." She handed him the plate and cup, then lay down on her bedroll. "And the insight."

Anders, recognizing his gentle dismissal, nodded and left.

* * *

It had been years since she'd had to rely on Antivan for communication, but after a few sentences, their contacts' conversation had become intelligible.

She was as close as she dared to get, and could hear most of what was going on as Hawke was talking with the apparent leader, setting terms for their aid. It seemed the next batch of mages out of the Gallows were to be sent to Antiva, and these folks had set up a safehouse of sorts not too far away from Starkhaven. They'd spirit the mages up the river and take ship to Rialto. From there they'd either head inland or to Rivain, one of the last few places where the Chantry did not have a stronghold.

It seemed too easy to her, but so far, nothing the lackeys on her end had said to each other had proven otherwise.

Wait.

"I wonder if they'll let us fuck the pretty ones," said one to the other. Her ears pricked up and she stealthily moved to their direction.

"Not likely," said the other. "The Tevinters, they pay more for virgins, especially mage virgins. We can't take the chance."

_Slavers. _Slavers! Disgusting, filthy little maggots!

Her world turned to red and she resisted the urge to turn the two of them into pincushions. It took everything she had to stalk over to where Anders was waiting, near a conveniently placed boulder.

"They're _slavers,_ Anders. They plan to sell the next wave of mages to Tevinter!"

All pretense of stealth was broken, and Althaea finally got a glimpse of what Fenris had spoken of. Cracks of light appeared in his face and his eyes glowed an unearthly shade of lyrium blue. His voice boomed, as if there was another one behind it.

"You will _not _take any of the mages as slaves!" He reached for his staff and fired bolts of magic at the group. Althaea readied her bow - they were outnumbered three to one.

"Anders, get a shield up on Althaea!" cried Hawke, but it was no use. His passenger was in control and clearly had his own plan as to the battle. She was outed, with nowhere to turn and no way to disappear without being tracked.

_Oh, Maker_, she thought as she took aim and started to fire at anyone she had a clear shot at. Every time one of the slavers headed in her direction, Hawke handled him with sword and shield; Isabela was a whirling dervish, poking holes in one slaver after another.

She fired shot after shot. _Oh Maker Oh Maker Oh Maker_ -

Then, suddenly...pain, blooming from her shooting shoulder. She looked down to see an arrow shaft poking out of it. "Oh," she said, half sitting, half falling to the ground. The battle roared on around her, until suddenly, it was over.

Anders had regained control, and rushed toward her. "She's down!" He touched the arrow shaft, and she groaned.

"I feel funny," she said, slurring her words a bit. The urge to sleep was almost overwhelming. Then, a slap. She saw Isabela in duplicate.

"Look at me, Muffin. That's a good girl. Stay awake."

_You've been wanting to do that for a while, _she tried to say, but what came out sounded more like "Yrrrmmrrrffgrle."

"Oh, Maker," murmured Anders. "I can't heal her before taking the damn thing out, Hawke. It's in too deep, and I can't push it through, it's going to hit her shoulder blade if I try."

"This wouldn't have been a problem if your friend hadn't chosen _this particular moment_ to take control, love."

Anders looked like he would have liked nothing better to run away, at least to Althaea.

"Justice," she slurred, staring Anders straight in the eye and still seeing double. He tried to push the arrow and pain bloomed, again. She would have loosed a scream of pain if she wasn't already so close to fainting from it.

"Cold," she said, reaching for a cloak that wasn't there.

"She's going into shock, Anders, _do_ something," said Isabela. Why the sudden concern? She was just cold. And tired. And in pain.

Anders tried one more time to push the arrow, this time at an angle. Stars bloomed behind her eyes and the world went black.


	14. Kirkwall Interlude III: Convalescence

_**A/N:** My beta is out of town, but I just had to get this up. As always, feedback either via review or PM is appreciated. I'm not making edits here, but plan to mirror a second draft on AO3 once I've completed Kindred :)_

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**KIRKWALL INTERLUDE III - CONVALESCENCE**

It was warm, warmer than it had any right to be in Kirkwall at all. Then, when she sat up to rub her head, bits of sand clung to the arm she raised to do so. There was a great hole in her shoulder, but there was no blood, no pain.

She tested one leg, then the other, and got up gingerly to have a look around. She was on a beach, with palm trees rising to meet the sky and coconuts strewn across the ground. There was only one place she remembered in her entire life this exotic and warm, and she had been here once in her youth: _Seheron, but it's not quite right._

It was almost as if it was a painting, and if she reached out…yes. The very air seemed to shimmer and bend around her finger as she touched it. _Am I dreaming? Is this the Fade?_

As if in answer, a figure began to congeal at the horizon, walking toward her with casual intent. Althaea narrowed her eyes to get a better look, but it wasn't until the figure was walking some ten feet away from her that its features stopped shifting enough for her to get a good look. It was an elf of medium height, with golden eyes and sandy blonde hair. _It can't be._

"Merry," she breathed. His answer was a wide, warm smile, and he swept her up into a tight embrace.

"I've missed you so much," he said.

"You've aged!" was the the only thing Althaea could squeeze out. The elf was not as gangly as he had been in life, and his face was sharper, wiser. The angles of his face no longer looked so unbecoming.

"You have, too. It's been eight years, remember?"

"Where are we?" Althaea asked, drawing away from him and looking around again. "It looks like Seheron, but it's too colorful, and everything is so…_thick_."

He ignored the question. "Remember when we came here?"

Althaea remembered hours spent with Marius, exploring the inland jungles and swimming in deep, clear pools. This was where she had fallen in love with the young man, her best friend since childhood; this was the beginning of his end.

"I wish we had run away together before any of this had happened," she said, choking the words out from behind red-rimmed eyes. "Or that I could have freed you."

"Hush, no…Squirrel, I'd never change a thing. Everything happened as it was meant to."

"Even your death?"

"Even my death. Every piece of our lives fits just so. It all comes together and in life, we can't see everything. But at the Maker's side, we can all look down and see that every jagged piece of glass life has thrown at us has been strung together into a picture window."

"Am I dead, then?" She didn't think her injury had been that bad.

"No. I'd call this…an interstitial." He carded his fingers through her hair, and she found herself leaning into him, missing him, in a way she never thought she could again.

"I don't have much longer," he said. He cupped her cheek in one of his graceful hands. The skin was soft and supple, nothing like it had been in life. He kissed her, slowly and sweetly. "You'll wake up in a minute. There will be pain, and a lot of it."

She clung to him. He couldn't go, not now...not yet -!

"I love you, Amalthaea. I have _always_ loved you." He turned to walk away.

"Marius!" she called out after him. He turned back. "Will I see you again?"

His face was sad as he shrugged. "Soon," he said. "But hopefully not too soon." Marius shimmered out of existence and pain climbed up behind Althaea's eyes as she blinked the beach away.

And just as Merry promised, it had been excruciating. She was vaguely aware of crying out his name before she fainted again.

There was no beach this time.

* * *

She woke up in a ridiculously large bed, perhaps even larger than Fenris's. Where was she?

She tried to sit up, but was pushed gently down. "Don't get up," said a female voice, older. A rag pressed up against her forehead, blessedly cool.

"Where am I?" she asked, though her words were not quite all there. Luckily for her, the woman attending her seemed to be fluent in sick speak.

"You're at the Amell estate," she said. "I'm Garrett's mother."

So this was the infamous Leandra, Stuffer of Stomachs and Giver of Hugs. And apparently, Head Nurse now as well.

She tried to mind her manners. "Enchanté." The phrase was Orlesian, but universally accepted among the highborn of Thedas.

"What were you doing in that nasty place?" she asked. "Seems like no place for a girl like you."

"Returning a favor," she said, still trying to get up. She was in naught but her smalls and a _lot _of bandages. Leandra stopped her progress again.

"Hmph," said Leandra. "The trouble he drags people into...I swear. Maker love him, but I'd rather he just settle down."

Her ears picked up on raised voices outside the door.

"What were you _thinking_, she could have been _killed -_" it was Fenris's voice, though she'd never heard such concern in his anger before.

"...doing _fine _until Justice decided to show himself and _quit listening _to the strategy of the battle..."

"...never again..."

"...she's _useful,_ you didn't see how fast she was shooting. Leave that decision up to her..."

"..._did_ and look where it got her..."

So he'd caught wind of her little misadventure. She'd been half hoping he wouldn't. "What happened?" she asked Leandra.

"You were shot, and they had to come back to Kirkwall to get the arrow out, but you're fine now. Anders healed it as best he could, but it might be a little while before you're feeling up to speed."

"Oh."

"You should try and sleep a little more, sweetheart," said Leandra as she tucked Althaea into the blankets of the bed. She was vaguely aware of a heavier body replacing hers, and looked up to see Fenris there, worry etched into the lines of his face; she smiled wanly up at him as she fell back to sleep.

* * *

She was awake again and feeling much better for it.

It was dark but for a lantern on the table next to the bed. She felt a hand clasped around hers, the body attached to it leaned up against the headboard, snoring slightly.

She was torn between sitting up and just...laying there. It wasn't often she got this little view of Fenris, who always seemed to wake before her. Eventually the pain in her shoulder forced her to reposition herself, and the movement woke him. She sat up next to him, or tried to. The shoulder couldn't bear weight very well, not yet.

What could she remember? Pain. Maker, she didn't think being shot would hurt anywhere near as much as it did. She'd been slung over Isabela's shoulders and had woken up a few times when the broken shaft of the arrow had collided with the other woman's armor.

The arrow had come out, but she couldn't remember how. Then...green, flashes of it, a sweating blond face above her, and choking down a disgusting concoction, some sort of herb for pain relief, perhaps, because after that she'd slept peacefully.

"Good morning," he said to her, helping her up and tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. "How are you feeling?"

"I've certainly seen better days."

"The mage couldn't get everything before he ran out of mana," he said, which explained a lot.

"Will he be coming back?"

Fenris shrugged in the lantern light. "I don't know. As soon as he knew you were stable, he left. It's been two days." He sighed. "As well he should, seeing as it was his pet demon that got you into this mess in the first place."

So he knew. She was hoping he didn't know about that, either.

"I don't think I ever want to help Hawke again," she said. "Not if this is what it gets me."

"_I'd_ rather you didn't."

They sat against the headboard in silence. It was clear Fenris wanted to say something, and the tension was making Althaea sick.

"What is it?"

"It's...it's nothing. Just try to relax."

"Some lot of 'nothing' it is, you're taut as a lute string."

"It's nothing, I swear it."

"Spit it out, Fenris!" she cried, then cringed as the sudden movement aggravated her injury. A bit of blood seeped through the bandages. His face hardened at the sight of it.

"This - this, I warned you about this! You accept the abomination, even try to cultivate a friendship with him, and look where it gets you. What if that arrow had pierced a lung? Or your heart? Or worse, if the demon had turned on _you_ before the mage was able to wrest control? What then, Althaea?"

"You face those possibilities _every day_ in your line of work, Fenris. How is that _any_ different?"

"I'm a _fighter, _Althaea. Born and bred one, I'm sure of it. Not a...a _girl_ playing at mercenary!"

So that was it. She was pathetic, through and through. Even Fenris, who made his fondness for her clear on a regular basis, thought she was so. It was no wonder no one took her seriously.

She was just a girl, playing at being something else. A librarian playing at being a warrior.

A slave, playing at being free.

Fenris must have seen her come to the realization. He made a sound of disgust, at himself or at her she wasn't sure. "This was not what I meant for you to feel, Althaea, I'm sorry. I just -" he scooped her gingerly into his arms - "There was a moment there, when I was pulling out the arrow -"

"That was you?"

"Yes, that was me. In that moment, we weren't sure if you'd heal properly. I'd never have been able to forgive myself if you'd been permanently injured. I'd have felt like it was my fault."

"I made the choice to fight, Fenris, not you. _I _did."

"Yes, and if _I _hadn't met you, you'd never have had a favor to pay back in the first place."

"Are you saying we should never have met?"

"Some days I think it, yes, though it's been...nice."

Oh, no. No, he was not going in this direction with her. "Listen to me. This hurts, it really does, but I don't want you to believe for a _single_ second it means I've regretted meeting you. Or anything that followed after that. _I _make my choices. And, as it so happens, I made a bad one, which I do regret, but not because of you." She used her good arm to stroke his cheek, and he leaned into it, sighing.

"I'm still upset with you," he said, a few moments later. "You fell victim to tunnel vision on the field of combat. It's acceptable in the archives, but elsewhere, it's a fast way to get yourself killed."

Commander Fenris, ever practical. She chuckled, then winced. Anders had better come to his senses soon and finish the job so she could get back to work.

Her stomach growled and it was his turn to chuckle. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

"Well, it just so happens I have Leandra's permission for a late night raid on the kitchen." He got up and helped her rearrange herself. "Let me see what I can do about that."

* * *

As it turned out, though, Anders would not come back that night, or the night after, so it was early one morning when, in more than a little pain, that Althaea got up out of the bed in the Hawke estate one last time.

She did the best she could to wash herself down and garb herself in a dress Fenris had brought over from her Lowtown home before he grudgingly left for another job, one she'd encouraged him to take. The pay would be enough to fix the worst parts of the roof, and she reasoned that the better the mansion looked on the outside, the less likely it would be that it would continue to draw complaints. She supposed she could have rang for Orana for help, but it was _so_ early, and the asking would be unkind.

He'd been kind to avoid a dress with too many buttons, and she managed the task one-handed. There was no mirror to check, so she ran her good arm up the back of the dress to make sure she'd gotten the buttons right, then gathered up her things and made for the door, opening it as silently as possible...

...and tripped over the dog, who gave a startled yelp. She landed on her bad arm and yelped, as well. Luckily for her, he seemed to be rather forgiving. The dog - _Brutus,_ she reminded herself - recovered quickly and walked over to inspect the nature of her injury. He sniffed at her arm and cocked his head at her with a whine.

Althaea was not much of a dog person - in fact, when she'd first met Brutus she was terrified of the giant war-hound, never having seen one before - but the dangerously smart hound had proven friendly, and had won her over. She patted his head and got up. He walked off, wagging his stump, and Althaea made her way to the stair, feeling along the walls to the railing. Maker, it was dark in here -

"Leaving so soon?" It was Hawke's voice. Either she'd managed to wake him, or Brutus had done it for her. The dog sat, looking rather pleased with himself, or at least as pleased as a dog could look.

"Uh." She wasn't _specifically _trying to nip out before anyone could protest - she did actually have a lot of work to catch up on, she was sure of it - but suddenly she felt like an inmate trying to escape a prison. "I was feeling all right, so I thought I'd try and go get some work done."

"You weren't doing so well yesterday." Which was true. She'd had a really bad day yesterday and neither Hawke nor his mother could find the painkiller concoction Anders had given her. But as much as she'd appreciated the attention, what she really wanted right now was a return to normalcy, or as much as she could get with one bad arm and enough bandages wrapped around her chest to make her look like she actually had breasts.

Hawke stepped over to her. "At least let me make you some breakfast."

She was planning on making it to the morning lauds, then taking a meal with the sisters - she hadn't done that in a while - but the look on Hawke's face said she should probably stick around. "All right," she said, and followed him down the stairs to the kitchen.

She sat at a counter with a tall stool while he worked, lighting lanterns, stoking the hearth fire, and preparing what looked like an omelette.

"Tea?" She nodded a yes, and he poured some into a mug for her, then offered her a jar of honey and a bit of cream.

She didn't know him that well, but he seemed...off. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes were bleary, and he didn't seem to have any of the verve that she'd seen him carry himself with. Anders's disappearing act seemed to have hit him hard, and she couldn't help but feel responsible.

_Tunnel vision on the field of battle is a fast way to get yourself killed._ If she'd been paying a little more attention, if she hadn't been panicking as she fired, if she'd been calmer about revealing the men as slavers to Anders...maybe none have this would have happened. "I'm sorry," she said, finally. "About Anders."

"He'll come back," said Hawke. He showed her the pan full of omelette. "Cut where you want," he said, handing her the spatula. She put a smallish sliver onto her plate, and Hawke shrugged and let the rest of the omelette fall onto his. They ate in silence for a while.

"This isn't the first time it's happened," Hawke said as he despondently shoveled omelette into his mouth. Noble he might be, but his table manners still reminded her of the farm boy he'd started as. "A few months ago, Justice almost killed a girl, and he left then, too."

He was losing control. It wasn't uncommon according to the literature, especially with what were considered the "stronger" spirits, but declaring such wouldn't help Hawke's state of mind any. "How long was he gone, then?"

"A week. I...I had to go and find him, in the end. But he stayed to help with you, so I suppose that's something." He had a sip of tea. "He told me you knew a few things about spirit lore, but he was sure didn't know about Justice."

She shook her head, focusing on her own mug of tea and using her good hand to eat. If she hadn't been shot on her dominant side, everything would have been so much easier. "Fenris told me about Justice. Last week. I'd just never seen him manifest himself until a few days ago."

"Is there anything you've read that can help?"

_If he loses control he'll have to be killed, there's no way to separate him and the spirit inside, it's irreversible, it's hopeless, and he's dangerous, most __**magisters**__ wouldn't have even dabbled with the idea, as enamored as they are with ancient magics..._"No. Nothing."

"Nothing at all?" His eyes were red-rimmed.

"Nothing...nothing that will help." She swallowed and tried not to look at Hawke, who was staring at her. Her shoulder was positively killing her now, pain radiating all the way down her side, and she tried to shake it off.

He buried his face in his hands, and she was at a loss as to what to do, or say. She barely knew the man, and here he was, falling apart in front of her, for something that was partially her fault...

"I think I should go." She got up with a wince, and he must have noticed it, because he got up to help her.

"I don't think you should leave yet," he said. There was no charming smile, none of the rapier wit she'd seen him use elsewhere, just a sort of emptiness that she was entirely too familiar with.

"I'll be fine, really."

"Fenris told me to take care of you while he was gone." He sat her back down on the stool, a little more roughly than she was sure he intended. But he was a big man, big and frightening and used to wielding a shield that likely weighed more than her. "I'm...I'm not doing so well at anything else right now, so you'll forgive me if I insist. I'm sure the grand cleric will understand."

She looked down at her shoulder and sighed. Blood had oozed up past the bandages and had stained her dress. Whatever else Hawke was, he was right - she wasn't fit to go back to work.

"I think you're going to need new bandages. Go back upstairs, and I'll wake Mother."

* * *

When she was seven, Althaea fell while climbing for the first and only time in her life. She'd broken multiple bones and punctured a lung, and despite her mother's healing skills, she'd been bedridden for weeks to recover.

During that time, Cora had been diverted from the kitchen to help. Her mother was a good healer, but staying by her daughter's bedside hadn't been one of her strong suits. She was, after all, a very busy woman, and had a number of social functions she'd been required at.

Cora had snuggled her, had given her medicine, had told her stories, while Marius had sat at the other end of the mattress, listening. It was the only time she'd ever been allowed to fraternize openly with the family slaves, and after she'd healed, she'd begun sneaking to their quarters for more.

The kind of love and attention Cora had given her in that time had been something she'd never received. Not from her mother, not from Victoria or Gaius or any of her older siblings, and only in a limited fashion from Phoebus, before he'd been shipped to university, and her father, who'd never made a point of embracing her, but cared for her all the same. It was that kind of love - that selfless, easy affection - that had taught _her_ to love, and she'd never lost it.

So, even though she'd stayed at Hawke's home with more than a bit of reluctance, and had even encouraged Fenris to continue working, she'd found herself rather enjoying the presence of Leandra, who seemed to have an overabundance of both affection and time, and only a few people to shower them on.

It had been five days since the accident on the coast. Anders was still nowhere to be found and Hawke was padding around the mansion in a haze of worry and frustration. The environment was tense, but the guest room where Althaea was staying was the eye of the proverbial storm.

They'd found a supply of elfroot while digging around the house, and with steady application of the sliced root to her wound, Althaea found she had regained limited range of motion in her arm.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Leandra said as she brought a bowl of stew up on a tray. Sure, there were servants, but she'd spoken loudly about how such things were best taken care of by a mother.

There had been a few close calls. Apparently the Amells and the Serras had some cousins among each other, and that had opened up a line of questioning Althaea was able to very carefully and patiently deflect by identifying herself as one of the family's many bastards. "Serras are as numerous as the stars," she'd heard her mother say, one day.

"Regardless, sweetheart, your breeding's evident," she'd said in response. Althaea had wanted to roll her eyes, but it at least had ended the questions.

She wondered what Fenris would think of her interactions with Lady Amell. Besides Orlais, she hadn't had to focus on behaving in a courtly manner, and suspected she didn't really have to here, either, but Leandra seemed to enjoy the chance to remember her old life and use her knowledge again. She'd sat, working on her embroidery, while Althaea had read a few books out of Hawke's library. At one or two points, Orana had taken a break from her other duties to play the lute for them.

She had learned all these things, once - embroidery, dance, deportment, singing, even a bit of violin. It seemed a lifetime ago.

"I was able to get your note out," she said, looking up from her current project, which looked like the bodice of a fine dress. "Sebastian is a friend of yours?"

"Yes, he's a brother of the Chantry. I don't think I can go to the archive just yet -" she shifted uncomfortably in the bed - "but I thought perhaps he could bring some work to me."

"You're recovering! Certainly they can understand that?"

She supposed they could, but how was she to explain the injury and what was shaping up to be an unexpected week off, without Seb's involvement? No, she'd have to at least have his help.

It was a few hours before Seb made it to the estate, introducing himself to Leandra with his usual manners - _his prince's manners_, she reminded herself, for she often forgot that's what he'd been, before the Chantry - then gracing Althaea with his usual greeting kisses, one prim peck on each cheek.

She hated that. Not that they came from Seb, particularly, but the way in which that gesture had become so meaningless, even as it was acceptable. He presented her a bouquet. _Roses. _She wasn't fond of roses. They were pretty, but so...pompous. She smiled anyway and accepted them, handing them off to Orana to be placed in a vase.

"I heard about your little accident," he said to her, motioning for a chair and getting one._ Maker, when did he get so imperious? _

"Who told you?"

"Fenris sent a message as soon as you arrived. He told me to keep an ear open in case I was needed, and here I am."

"Please tell me I'm not sorely missed."

"No. Elthina managed to borrow a Tranquil to pick up the slack this time, so you're scot-free for now."

"Have you told her what happened?" _Please say no, please say no, please say no._

"Aye." _Kaffas. _"She knows all about the terrible 'training accident', recommends -_ again_ - you cease your pursuit of such unladylike activities, and sends her prayers in your time of healing."

He said it with such dry amusement that Althaea giggled despite herself. "That's my Seb." She shifted her weight again, and the book she was reading fell off the bed; he caught it deftly and put it back in her lap.

"Please tell me what possessed you to go out and do something like this. You know as well as I that you're unsuited for this...this life, these people. Battle."

"Hawke took me to Sundermount, Seb. I owed him a favor, and it was never meant to go this badly wrong."

"Now _he_ owes you _three_, I'd say. I've been trying to tell him to turn in the _maleficar, _and now his actions have hurt you. It's unacceptable. I will not stand for it."

"You have my thanks, Seb, but Fenris has already addressed the issue. Anders is missing; Hawke doesn't need any more reminders of how badly this turned out."

"Althaea, promise me you won't let yourself be dragged into anything else like this. Please? It's been nothing but mischief and mayhem since Orlais."

"I promise." She patted his hand and watched the worry leach from his face.

"Is there anything I can do or get for you?" he asked.

"I'd originally sent for you because I wanted you to bring some work over, but since that's not a problem any more, I wouldn't mind some company."

"Your wish is my command," he said with a wink, then pulled a deck of cards from a belt pouch. "How about a game of Diamondback?"

* * *

Seb left a few hours after sunset and after soundly defeating Althaea multiple times. They'd finally put the cards away and sat, talking, while Leandra continued working on her embroidery in the corner chair.

It was nice to catch up with him. They'd seen each other around the chantry, for certain, but he was sometimes gone for weeks on end, and lately she'd spent almost all of her waking hours - _and some of my sleeping ones,_ she thought with a smile - with Fenris.

Dinner arrived, an amazing-looking soup. "Orana's speciality," said Leandra as she cooled a spoonful of her own and ate it.

It was delicious as it looked. The girl was a wonder, really, and she wondered how she'd arrived in Hawke's employ. Maybe she could get the recipe.

"Your friend is a very sweet boy," she said.

Althaea smiled. "He is. Trustworthy, kind, and smart as a whip."

"How long have you been friends?"

"Since I arrived in Kirkwall. He was the one who helped me get my position with the Chantry."

"He's quite handsome," said Leandra. "There's...?"

Althaea had to swallow a mouthful of boiling hot soup, else she'd laugh it into the woman's face. "No. He and I are strictly friends, and I'm...otherwise occupied."

One - he was a brother in the Chantry. Two - he was like a brother to_ her._ Three - he was a _brother _in the _Chantry. _Four - and she supposed it should be One, at this point - she had Fenris.

"I just thought I'd ask," she said, "though I suppose you have that elven boy of yours."

Althaea nodded, blushing. Yes, she had that "elven boy". That "elven boy" always seemed to know what she was thinking. He could have an entire conversation with her without saying a word. But most of all, that "elven boy" always understood, and never judged her anxieties, the ones that came from five years, five long years she thought she'd been able to let go.

No one else but Marius could have given her that, and Marius was with the Maker now.

"Is he good to you? He seems a bit...rough around the edges."

Always this argument. First Anders, now her, though at least she hadn't likened him to a wild dog.

"He is." Leandra's face warmed at the words, but she said nothing.

_She's just as skittish as you, Elf, but she puts a smile on it_, she remembered Varric saying one night at the Hanged Man. _I don't know what's worse._

She smiled at Leandra and finished her soup, and was about to beg off on a need for sleep when Orana appeared at the threshold.

"Ser Fenris here to see you."

Leandra must have seen the smile, the real one, spread slowly across her face, because she took her leave, patting Fenris on an elbow as she left the room.

"_Avanna,_" he said as he took a seat on the mattress next to her. He was freshly washed and in his simplest tunic, black and sleeveless. She never told him, but it was her favorite one.

"_Avanna_," she replied. "I was worried you wouldn't come back and Lady Amell would spoil me completely rotten!"

He smiled as he held out a single flower, a large purple bloom.

"Sevenbell," she said. It had been _ages_ since she'd seen this particular flower.

"It was on a vine in the garden. Everything else had closed, but this one had just started to open...I'd never seen it before. I thought you might know what it was."

She laughed. All the hours spent in his garden, and she hadn't noticed the sevenbell vines growing. But she supposed she'd never actually been there in full night. "You have to wait until seven bells to see them. Hence the name." She tucked the bloom behind her ear.

"I see your arm is moving a little more smoothly."

"Lady Amell found some elfroot in the cellar." She tried to prove how much it had helped by reaching out to him, but the attempt failed miserably. He laughed and leaned in to kiss her, and she used her good arm to pull the scruff of his tunic closer, setting him off balance for a fraction of a second.

He obliged her and sighed into it, lacing his fingers into her bad hand.

"I missed you," she said, hoping the kiss had already said it for her.

"Mmm, I can tell." The desire in his voice was evident, and it made her smile, a devious grin that spread from ear to ear. She pressed her forehead to his. Maker, but she'd missed him!

She shifted over a bit, allowing him space to sit more fully next to her on the bed, and patted on it as a means of invitation. "Tell me how it went."

And he did, though the details were mostly lost on her; she tucked into his shoulder and drew lazy patterns against the blankets that covered both their laps.

"They wound up paying me double, so I suppose the roof can be fully fixed, at this point." He looked away. "I'll have to ask you to take the bids."

Of course. No contractor serving Hightown would believe an _elf_ lived in the mansion there, but if she put on her best dress, she could probably convince them he was the house steward. She sighed. "Happy to help," she said, squeezing the hand wrapped around her.

They were silent for a while, and he held the hand she'd squeezed as if it might disappear if he dropped it.

She didn't want to bring it up and ruin the mood, but it had to be said. "Anders hasn't come back yet."

"I figured as much, seeing as you were still injured."

"Hawke says it's happened before."

"It has."

"He's worried sick."

"As well he should be."

"About Anders, not about me, though he did stop me from leaving at your behest."

"It is the least he could do, given that he got you into this in the first place."

His attitude was driving her insane. "You should offer to help find him. At the very least so he can finish healing me and I can get back to work."

A noncommittal grunt.

"Please?"

"Is it what you truly wish?" His face had hardened a little. She knew he'd rather the mage stayed well away, but she felt like she owed it to Hawke to help get him back, and she'd already proven herself useless.

"It is. Please, Fenris. I'm begging you."

He sighed heavily against the top of her head, then tilted her chin up for a kiss. "I will do it, but only because you asked so nicely."

She smiled into it, and let the hand in his lap drift _up_. "I'm still perfectly capable of asking other ways, you know."

Surprise lit his face for a brief moment, preceding a predatory grin. "If that kind of asking is as good as it's been...I am at your disposal."

He seemed just barely able to get up and close the door before descending upon her.

* * *

Morning light streamed in through the windows, rays made by floating motes of dust in the air. Fenris woke, but didn't move. Althaea was curled around him, her injured arm held gingerly at her side, still naked but for the bandages wrapped around her wound.

Her face was untroubled, peaceful. Stray locks of hair had fallen out of the braid she'd had her hair in.

She'd proven to him just how good things could be, even injured as she was. She'd asked, and then she'd begged, and he'd given her release - twice - before he'd come to his own. He'd come away sated...happy.

Happiness was never something he thought he could afford.

It still might not be, but Void take him if he was going to let the bastard magister ruin his life with the waiting.

"Hmm," she said, as she sleepily wriggled against him. Her thigh brushed against a sensitive spot, and he stiffened with need. He shook it away as best he could.

_Insatiable,_ she'd said, the second night they'd lain together like this, all the walls between them cast away. And he'd laughed because it was true. If he had it his way, he'd never spend a moment away from her touch, and they'd do this at least once a night.

Or day, or afternoon, or...morning, perhaps? He wouldn't be picky. She'd given him something special. Something that, aside from one boy, a lifetime ago, had always been taken from her.

It was a gift he didn't have the heart to waste. Folly, perhaps, but he'd follow it.

It wasn't _just_ sex, but it wasn't love, not yet (_Not ever? Am I even capable of that?_). Whatever it was, he'd follow it.

He'd learned to trust Hawke, then he'd learned to trust her. She'd sworn she'd never betray him, knowingly at least, and for only the second time in his life, he'd been able to believe it.

He sat up a little, rotating her carefully and helping her back into her smalls. He knew Orana had been helping her with the more basic tasks, helping her bathe and do her hair, but he didn't think he should make the evidence of last night's activities any more obvious than it already was. He put his own clothes on and slapped some water from a nearby basin on his face.

She was fully awake now, it seemed, though she was far from bright-eyed. "Good morning," she mumbled at him.

"Good morning," he said, looking over his shoulder at her. Should he give her the gift now?

Now was as good a time as any. He should have done it when he gave her the flower.

"I found something you might like on this job," he said, reaching into one of his belt pouches and pulling out a nondescript box.

"For me?" she asked. It was as if she'd never received a gift in her life. It was an odd concept. But then, he'd never...so perhaps...

She opened it. The men he'd been paid to fight had been slavers, but not the kind who would have known about the bounty on his hide. It was no matter, now. They were all dead.

One of them had had a fair amount of coin in his purse, but it had been in Tevinter currency, so the other sellswords had turned their noses up. Fenris knew better - coin was coin was coin - and relieved the corpse of it.

Among the coins, though, there had been one shiny golden drakon, newly minted.

He knew Althaea missed home, and had even called it his home, too, though he never wanted anything else to do with the place. As much as it pained him to see her pining for a land he hated, he knew that even the smallest piece of it might help her through the trying times. So he'd drilled a hole in the coin and mounted it on a leather thong, and put it in a box.

Her sigh of awe went straight to his heart, as surely as his fist could have done the same to her. She held the straps up and reverently touched the gold of the coin. "It's...oh, Fenris."

_Oh, Fenris._ He'd heard that phrase in a few different voices now, and no inflection of it had ever failed to please him. She could say his name any way she liked, really, and he'd enjoy the sound of it.

"May I?" he asked, and she allowed him to string it around her neck. He was going to go find Hawke, and make his offer to help find the man's lover. "I'll be back," he said.

He kissed her. It was a promise.


	15. A Change in Plans

_**A/N: **__I know some people really wanted to read Fenris and Hawke going after Anders, but I just couldn't find a way to make it work. I hope you'll forgive me. On another, mostly unrelated note, expect updates to slow some as I have been picking up a ton of overtime at work __**and**__ now *finally* have an original fiction piece I'm working on._

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN - A CHANGE IN PLANS**

_Rain, rain, and more rain, _thought Fenris as he walked toward the Hanged Man for what seemed like the first time in a few weeks. _When did autumn get so rainy?_

It wasn't that he minded overmuch. After the debacle that was Orlais, he'd invested in a well-oiled cloak that did a very good job of keeping the rain out, and now that his roof was fixed, he didn't have much to worry about on that end, either. That he was glad for; Althaea's loft was cozy to the point where it was uncomfortable, and he much preferred the big bed in the mansion to her tiny one.

It was funny how things seemed to be changing around the place. After the roof had been fixed, they'd gone through the rooms they used most often and had cleaned them from top to bottom, and the stone lines no longer looked so unwelcoming. With her help, he'd also made a fair bit of gold selling the most valuable books out of the shelves in the lower levels. He'd wanted to burn them, but the wounded look on her face as he suggested it was enough to stop him mid-sentence.

He figured she'd be in the Hanged Man by now. If nothing else, she was predictable. She wasn't at the Chantry and she hadn't been home, either. He reached his destination and strode inside.

The tavern was doing a brisk trade despite, or perhaps because of, the rain. Every seat was full and the regular group was nowhere to be found. _Most likely upstairs, then._ On nights like this, Varric's suite was the go-to place. He headed up the stairs, ignoring the glances he was receiving, and entered the suite.

It appeared the party had started without him, and as he thought, Althaea was there, nestled between Sebastian and Hawke at the far end of the table. _Don't see him here often._ She was laughing at a joke the prince had just cracked, though he hadn't caught the punchline, and wearing a wide, warm grin. Maker, how he loved that smile, and he stood for a long moment watching it and letting her good humor wash over him. He needed it after the day he'd had.

She caught his eye and if it were even possible, her smile grew wider; she reached up to wave him over. Hawke scooted over to make room for him at the bench, and tossed a bottle of brandy his way. He squeezed Althaea's shoulder as he sat; though a part of him wanted to kiss her in greeting, he still didn't feel ready for that, not even amongst those he called his friends.

She seemed to understand that and squeezed his knee as he poured some of the brandy in a mug and had a listen to the conversation going on around him. Sebastian was regaling the group with a story of some of his old exploits; he was red in the face and acting uncharacteristically bombastic in the telling. _Sebastian? Drunk?_

"How long have you been here?" he asked, quietly so as not to interrupt the tale.

"Seb and I came down for an early dinner, and we never left," she said. Now that he was having a closer look, Althaea had more than her usual color, as well. "Did you just get home?"

"A little while ago, but I had to clean up."

"_Hawke didn't," _she said in Arcanum, making a face.

"_Yes, well, Hawke didn't get the better part of a dragon's gore all over himself, either._"

"_He also stinks._"

"I don't know what you two are saying, but I keep hearing my name," said Hawke. "Nothing bad, I hope?"

Fenris mimicked her innocent "no" and had another sip of brandy. At this rate, he was going to have to work to catch up.

Sebastian leaned his way. "It works better if you just down it in one," he said. His brogue seemed to have become more pronounced in his inebriated state.

It looked as if there'd be no card game tonight, but he didn't mind. As he continued drinking the brandy, stories were swapped all around the table. Most of them were grand tales from childhoods, but a few more recent, and it wasn't long before seven sets of eyes were staring at him.

"I think it's your turn, Fenris," Althaea whispered.

He was at a loss. He didn't tell _stories_. He didn't have the patience for embellishment or timing or any of the things that made storytelling effective, and he _certainly_ didn't have any tale interesting enough to tell in the first place. "I'll pass," he said. Althaea deflated next to him, clearly disappointed.

"Maybe he'll loosen up after a bit more of this," said Varric, making a grab for his cup and pouring more of the alcohol into it. "Your go, Violet."

She blushed so brightly even her freckles seemed to have turned red. "I don't know, there's nothing too interesting for me to say..."

Sebastian elbowed her and whispered something into her ear. She giggled and nodded. "There was this one time I took Seb out for a walk along the Chantry rooves..."

"Only, she didn't know I have a terrible fear of heights..."

"Yes! And we'd already had some wine for the night -"

"-cooking wine, _awful _stuff, what _were_ you thinking -"

"Seb, are _you _telling this story, or am I?"

"If I'm in it, I should tell it too..."

Fenris listened to the exchange with half an ear. He knew they were close, but rarely got to see them interact, drunk or not. His exchanges with the brother had been friendly, and Sebastian had challenged his worldview in a way Althaea wouldn't or hadn't; in fact, since Orlais they'd spoken little about matters of faith. All things considered, he still didn't think about it often, and was convinced that if the Maker truly existed, then He had little care for the lives of men.

"...and right there, Seb nearly fell and I had to catch him, it was awful!" she concluded. There was laughter around the table as the various listeners tried to imagine the small woman catching a man as tall as he. The brandy was warming him from the inside out, Althaea's form pressed up next to him was warming him from the outside in, and the company was pleasant. He found himself smiling as the night wore on around him and the stories turned into songs.

As it turned out, Sebastian had a fine singing voice, and a fair knowledge of folk songs to boot. One in particular sounded terribly familiar, especially after Althaea had joined in:

_On the Minanter on warm afternoons, old men go fishing with black line and spoons..._this was the song she'd sung in Val Royeaux, months ago now. Here, her alto was sweet and rang true; then, it had shaken and quailed as she'd held a dying man in her arms.

The song had lulled Merrill into a stupor. _On the Minanter the people are kind, they'll treat you to homebrew and help you unwind..._ He'd never been to Hasmal, having avoided the Imperial river city in favor of Tantervale to the southeast. He'd stopped as little as possible in his flight, but always marveled at the simplicity of Althaea's southern ways. He'd always dismissed southerners as backwards, country bumpkins largely to be ignored, but wondered now just how much of that had been a mirror of Danarius's old bias.

..._and if you come broken, they'll see that you mend..._ Sebastian was forming a harmony with her now, swaying to the beat, and Anders had joined in on the chorus.

..._I'm going to be with them again._ The song came to an end, and the mage had even formed a third harmony on the closing note. Claps rose around the table.

"I didn't know you could sing, priest!" said Varric with glee. "You really are a choir boy!" Sebastian blushed and didn't say anything.

After a last round of shanties, Isabela bade her farewell and departed for the Rose, offering to walk Merrill home. Seb yawned and ruffled Althaea's hair as he also took his leave, and eventually they were a party of five.

Althaea perked up, seeming to remember something. She got up and sat briefly next to Varric. "I was wondering: do you have any contacts in Tevinter?"

"I might, Violet, I might. Depends on what you need."

He listened as she explained a little about Cora to the dwarf. "I was hoping you might be able to get a fix on her whereabouts...I just...I want to bring her home. Discreetly, if at all possible."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "That could prove expensive."

"Whatever it takes, Varric. I just...I want her home." He knew she was thinking of Leandra's attentions during her convalescence in Hawke's home. She'd mentioned a few times how she'd loved the feeling of having a mother again, and Cora was the closest thing she felt she'd ever had. He also knew she'd be putting her smokescreen on the line by putting out inquiries of her own; the dwarf's contacts would certainly be used with a fair amount of discretion.

"I'll take care of it," Hawke said. He'd almost forgotten he and the mage were still there.

"Please, you don't have to do that," said Althaea.

"I insist," replied Hawke with finality.

Varric shrugged. "I'll put out some feelers for you, Vi, but I can't promise anything. Any ideas on her last whereabouts?"

"She could be in Solas or Minrathous." She lowered her voice. "If she hasn't been sold, she'd be serving the magister Aloysius Demitridis."

"Demitridis? Sounds familiar," he said. "Wait, is that dear old Dad?"

She blanched and nodded. "Why...?"

"Trust me, Violet, you don't wanna know."

She nodded again with a wan smile. "You have my thanks, Varric." She crossed back over to Fenris. "Shall we?"

He smiled and nodded, taking her hand and waving a goodbye.

"I just want to know what he doesn't want me to know," she said miserably as they walked up the steps to Hightown.

* * *

Sebastian was waiting in the main vestibule when Althaea came into the chantry the next day, looking a little tired but otherwise, no worse for wear.

"This arrived for you this morning," he said in response to her confused look. He almost never sat and waited for her arrival. He handed her a letter, sealed with the sigil of the Divine.

Her hands trembled as she broke the wax seal. Seb peeked over her shoulder to read with her.

_Dear Miss Serra,_

_Upon review of your request for a translator for scrolls in ancient Tevene, the Divine Justinia V has seen fit to provide a Circle mage skilled in the tongue._

_The scrolls and the mage await in the Circle at Kirkwall and you are hereby reassigned to permanent duty translating the scrolls, which we now believe to contain evidence of early Andrastean followers in the Free Marches as well as a possible precursor to the Chant of Light. Your salary has been adjusted to reflect your new responsibilities._

_Please report to both the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander immediately upon receipt of this letter. Any requests for additional assistance may be made to either of these individuals._

_Respectfully,_

_High Cleric Hortencia Almancar_

_by order of Divine Justinia V_

She held the letter in her hands, blinking at it and swallowing the expletive she might have made if she wasn't in the presence of a three-story-tall statue of Andraste herself.

"Congratulations," said Seb. "I do believe you just earned yourself a pay rise."

He guided her toward the exit, though she was still utterly bemused. "I'd get going, if I were you. Best not to keep Meredith waiting."

* * *

_I can do this, I can do this, I can do this_. She stood in front of the Knight-Commander's closed door, steeling herself to knock.

Why was she so nervous? Certainly there was nothing untoward about something so simple as a reassignment. Wasn't this what she'd wanted in the first place? A chance to finish the work she'd started last year? She'd been practically bouncing from toe to toe when she'd first cracked open the dusty contents that had been dug up.

_Well, to start, she's shoving me into the depths of the Circle after threatening me and then asking my opinion on the tensions in Kirkwall. _She wondered if either party had been told of her actual identity, and resolved to hide her accent as best she could when she introduced herself.

She finally gathered up the courage to knock, and was greeted by a Tranquil. _No older than me, _she thought with a shudder.

"Miss Serra, I presume?" she asked. She put on a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Althaea nodded mutely.

"Please have a seat. I shall inform the Knight-Commander of your arrival."

She sat for what seemed an age before she was finally greeted. "Our resident scholar arrives. I've been informed that you will be working with us for the foreseeable future?"

"Yes, Knight-Commander," she uttered. Why, why, why was she so uneasy? She was Chantry. She had nothing to fear from this woman.

"Lovely. Follow me." She brought Althaea down a hallway. "I've been told you are fond of working late into the night, is that correct?"

Althaea nodded a yes. "If the mood strikes."

"Chantry needs dedicated souls such as yourself," she said. "Curfew is at ten bells, at which time you will be unable to secure a ferry back to the city. The First Enchanter is to provide you with quarters in case 'the mood strikes', as you say."

They stopped in front of another door, smaller and less ornately decorated. She pushed it open without a knock. "Orsino, here's the one on loan from the Chantry." She left her in an awkward silence in front of the First Enchanter.

Despite herself, Althaea seethed. Was she now some object to be loaned? Maker. This was ridiculous.

"I thought you might be taller," he finally said by way of greeting. There was finally a smile, which she returned gratefully.

"No," she replied. "I'm afraid this was as tall as I ever got."

"Have I seen you before?"

"I've never been to the Circle." _Not in Kirkwall, at any rate._

"Welcome, then. It's not much, but it's home." He shook her hand. "As you were so unceremoniously dumped on my doorstep, I'll give you the grand tour...follow me."

He showed her the mess hall, the foyer, and brought her around the corner to the dormitories. "I was told you may need accommodations after curfew, correct?"

"If I'm not otherwise occupied, I find that I work late, yes." When Fenris wasn't around, she often busied herself in the archives and didn't see this new assignment as being any different.

Maker, this place was a prison, both figuratively and literally. The mages' quarters were converted cells, open to the hallway with no chance for privacy.

"Do these get _locked_ at night?" she asked. It sounded like a stupid question as soon as it left her mouth.

"They do," he replied, no small amount of bitterness in his voice. "I'm sure yours will not." She couldn't wipe the stricken look from her face quickly enough to avoid his notice.

It only got worse. The bathing chambers were stark and cold, and it seemed she couldn't turn around without seeing a Tranquil. She swallowed her tears; the First Enchanter didn't need to see them.

"You'll enjoy this, I'm sure of it," he said as he opened a large door to the Circle library, a converted hall. "And here's Galatea. She's from the Circle in Ferelden. Galatea, this is Althaea, your new partner."

Galatea walked up to shake Althaea's hand. "Charmed, I'm sure." Her accent was clipped, the vowels shortened. She'd heard a bit of it in Hawke, but it was mostly dwarfed by Kirkwall. Orsino took his leave after making sure she didn't need anything else.

"Well," said Galatea in a bracing tone, "I suppose that means we should get cracking."

* * *

The sun was beginning its descent over the city when Althaea finally made it back to the chantry. All things considered, the day had gone well; Galatea had proven more than capable and quite excited at the prospect of the work, to boot. Working with her would be a pleasure. But the Gallows! She'd been there before, but never inside the prison tower that had become the Circle of Kirkwall.

She arrived at the tiny door to her bell tower and ascended the stairs, then shed her shoes for the climb. It had been months since she'd made it last, and not at all since her injury; though Anders had returned and eventually healed her, some of the internal scar tissue had refused to heal, and he'd told her she'd likely have some continued issues with it.

To the void with all of that. She had to climb, and she had to climb now.

Her worry was dashed away when the shoulder in question gave her no issue other than a little jolt of surprise, and before long she made it to the top, settling herself down next to one of the sharp brass eagles standing vigilant on the railing.

She sighed, staring out across the city toward the Gallows from whence she'd come. She'd made her peace with what she'd been told about the Circle, from the Tranquil she'd worked with and even Anders, who spoke of it loudly whenever he was given the chance.

The reality of it, she was beginning to realize, was far worse than she'd thought. She'd known the Gallows housed a prison, and that the Templars there kept a tight leash on the mages within. She just hadn't realized the extent of it - the prison was barely converted at all, the only semblances of homelike charm having been provided by its residents. They were being kept like... _like animals_. Suddenly, the whispers of tortures and rapes at the hands of the Templars seemed like they might not be as unfounded as she believed.

_Maker,_ she thought, curling her arms around her knees against the shiver that went up her spine.

Not all of them could be that bad - Rickard, for example, was a knight of unparalleled compassion, dedicated to the protection of mages in his interpretation of the Oath. But the ones that were...Maker, how many of them had she met, worked with? She didn't want to know.

What to do, then? It wasn't as if she had anyone she could talk to about it. Fenris was completely and understandably biased in terms of this, and Anders...no. If she got him going on this, she might well find herself in the same room as Justice again, and that thought was unsettling to say the least. Sebastian would be somewhat understanding, she was sure, but even if they did talk about it, what options did she have? She couldn't just up and quit, or dedicate herself to the mage underground, without invoking the wrath of the Chantry and forcing the Divine or that red-haired left hand of hers to make good on their threats.

No. If she quit, she'd have to leave Kirkwall for good or risk being caught and carted back to Solas in a sack. She'd have to find somewhere quiet to start over again, with no friends and no prospect of ever bringing Cora back for the life she deserved. She owed that much to Marius, and seeing him in what she could only call a pain-induced hallucination had reminded her of that.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Fenris had appeared next to her, silent as a wraith. She hadn't even heard him climbing the tower.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," she said as he took a seat. "Are you sure you can afford it?"

He chuckled, a low rumble that echoed in her chest, warming it. "After all the things you helped me sell off, I think I can manage. Tell me what ails you."

"I was reassigned today. Remember the scrolls we took to Orlais?"

"I do."

"They're back in Kirkwall, and I was granted a second translator, a Circle mage. Very capable woman, sweet as well. And a pay rise, too...but it doesn't feel as it should."

He said nothing, simply watching her with a forced neutrality on his face. "All these years, I thought the stories I'd heard about the Gallows were...vast exaggerations of truth, but I learned they were not. They're made to live like animals, caged and bound. It's no wonder so many of them give up and turn into the thing they're made to be."

He sighed next to her. She sensed his disagreement coming. "Kirkwall simply learns the lessons of Tevinter. You've forgotten what you and I suffered at the hands of mages."

"I suffered at the hands of magisters. It's not the same."

"You and I know full well that, given freedom, they would make themselves magisters, Althaea. It would only be a matter of time."

"If we treated them like people, they might not become monsters...there has to be a middle ground." She buried her head in her hands. "There has to be an answer. I don't think _this_ was what Andraste meant."

He rubbed his hand up and down her back. "If it bothers you so, you know what you need to do. Separate yourself from the Chantry if you can't tolerate their actions."

"If I do that, I'm as good as dead." She was sure he remembered the veiled threat.

"I think you give them more credit than they deserve."

"I'm afraid."

He held her close, and was silent for a while. The sun was ending its descent, bathing the city in ocher shadow. "I...don't know what to tell you. You must either abandon your heart or continue to struggle under the weight of it. Do neither, and you will continue living a half-life, as I do."

He was right. For all his companionship, all her affection, he wouldn't be free until he faced Danarius down or returned to him. In the same way, she wouldn't be free until she decided what she'd do with the Chantry.

For all its charms, all its sweet moments, all the feeling of home...a half-life was still what it was.

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, she climbed down the tower. She'd stuff down her convictions, for now, but it was clear she'd have to think and pray on the answer she so desperately sought.

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just. Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked, and do not falter. Maker, if only you'd given me a spine to go with my heart..._

* * *

_**Postscript:** The song at the Hanged Man is a modification of Allister McGillivray's "Song for the Mira", a lovely Nova Scotian tune I've always loved. Another mood-setting song for me was "This Place is a Prison", by the Postal Service. If you've never heard it, let me tell you that it conveys every bit of the hopelessness I think Althaea's feeling right now._

_See you folks in a couple of weeks!_


	16. Interlude IV: Tempora Fugis

**A/N: **Warnings here for fluff, smut, and perhaps some fluffy smut. Given that things have been a little weighty, I'm just gonna run with it.

Since it's been a while, I'll go ahead and insert this here: The concept and character of Althaea Serra belong to me. Everything else belongs to BioWare. It's their sandbox. I just play in it.

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**INTERLUDE IV - TEMPORA FUGIS**

"Ow! Ow, love, you stepped on my foot!"

Althaea pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation, watching the two men in front of her attempt a waltz at her direction. "Stop...just stop."

They obeyed, Anders wiggling his foot after the insult. "I'm sorry, love, but you can be such an oaf."

"Shall we try again?" she asked. They'd been at it for what seemed like hours with little improvement, and she was getting hungry.

"Supper is ready," piped Bodahn from the dining room door. "Perhaps Messeres would like to take a break to eat?"

"I know I could use one," said Anders. "You really got me good, love." Hawke shrugged and glanced toward Althaea. "I'm assuming you're joining us for dinner, Violet?"

"Is there enough? Fenris said he'd be dropping by at some point." She figured he'd come over and they'd make something at his place before going back to preparations for Hawke's Satinalia party.

The big warrior grinned and squeezed her shoulder. "How long have you known my mother, really?"

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Long enough to know that she insists on feeding an army instead of two grown men, I suppose."

"Precisely," he said as he ushered her into the dining room, where Lady Amell was already waiting.

"Lady Serra, a pleasure to see you, as always."

Althaea, who was unaccustomed to being referred to as 'Lady', didn't realize Leandra was speaking to her.

"She means you, dove," said Anders.

She took her seat next to the older woman and chuckled. She saw the boys look at each other. They knew that her title would have been stripped from her in Tevinter when she was forced into the slave caste, and it was a credit to both of them that neither decided to point it out.

Bodahn and his son placed a series of large plates out in the center of the servants' table before taking their own seats. Hawke found the formal dining hall too "large and fusty", and spared its use for Leandra's dinner parties. It would be used for the Satinalia party as well, but in general, he was just as happy to take his regular meals either at the counter in the kitchen or in the large but homey servants' hall. The servants took meals with them, as well; Althaea liked to see that they were treated more like 'family' than 'the help'.

Everyone helped themselves to a pork roast and autumn greens. The new nip in the air meant that kale and some of the hardier greens were becoming sweet and better to eat on their own, and that the squash were starting to come into season. These were always Althaea's favorite things to eat and she dug into the vegetables with relish, almost ignoring the meat in front of her.

Fenris showed up about halfway through the meal and Althaea gestured to the open seat next to her. He was freshly washed and looking quite fine in a beautiful shirt she'd never seen before, and he kissed her on the forehead. _He's never done that before._

"_Avanna,_" he said, reaching to serve himself. Well, if he wasn't going to address it as anything other than the standard greeting, she wouldn't either, though she was secretly pleased at the development. "How are the dance lessons going?"

"Not well," said Hawke. "I keep stepping on Anders's toes."

"No sense of rhythm whatsoever," she said, and Orana giggled at her end of the table. Althaea had a sudden idea. "Though they might to better practicing to actual music rather than my tapping on a table. Orana, do you think you can help us out in that regard?"

"I'd be happy to, Mistress." It seemed only Fenris caught Althaea's wince.

Leandra turned to her. "I think you should let the boys have a chat, and come upstairs and see some of the dresses I found for you to wear to the party."

She didn't know what to say to that. "I..."

"Just say 'thank you'," Hawke said with a laugh. "She's been dying for a girl to spoil since..." He changed tack at the glare from his mother. "Uh, since she's realized I wouldn't be taking a wife."

She glanced questioningly at Fenris, who only gave her a look that quite clearly said 'later'. "I'd love to." She allowed the older woman to spirit her out of the kitchen, meal mostly finished at least.

* * *

Her room was beautiful, covered from wall to wall in houseplants, with a small balcony opening to the garden below.

"Here," she said, reaching for a pile of dresses and placing them on the bed. "They might run a little on the big side, but there's a week yet and we can have them tailored to fit."

Her eyes were immediately drawn to a velvet dress of a deep forest green, delicately embroidered in gold at the neck and sleeves. It was simply cut, but the amount of embroidery on it and the type of fabric it was made of suggested that it was actually worth quite a bit.. "May I?" she asked.

"Please do," said Leandra, gesturing toward the changing screen.

"I made that dress for my daughter Bethany," she said, as Althaea took her simple overdress off and shimmied into the velvet one. She bathed in the softness of it - so beautiful! It had been _years_ since she'd worn fine things like this, the pompous dresses in Orlais being the exception. No, this was more her style, as it had been in Solas. Understated wealth was the norm in the southern Imperium, and in her few trips to Minrathous she'd felt a little like a peahen in comparison to the lurid color and ridiculous ensembles the women there wore. All the same, she knew that her simple country dresses were likely worth more than the capital's finery: velvets, silks, linens for summer and fine furs and wools for the winter.

She buttoned up the top. The dress was at least eight inches too long at the hem, and would have to be taken in at almost all directions. Bethany, wherever she was now, was nearly as tall as her brother. She stepped out from behind the changing screen.

"All my years," said Leandra. "It's beautiful."

She took a small tray and began pinning the dress at various points. "Bethany...never got a chance to wear this dress. Garrett, sweet thing he is, bought the velvet with a good job he had, before the mansion, and she was so thrilled to see it. You would have loved her."

_Would have?_ "She has good taste."

"_Had_, my dear. She...she died in the Deep Roads, these past five years now. And her twin Carver, a year before that, during the Blight."

"I'm so sorry." She hadn't known Hawke had siblings. She'd always thought of him as an only child.

"It's quite all right, sweetheart. She's at the Maker's side now, and I think if she could see you now, she'd love to see you in this dress."

"I don't know what to say. It's a lovely dress, and I'll be proud to wear it."

"Gracious girl." She finished the last bit of pinning, and gestured Althaea back behind the changing screen, where she removed the dress carefully and put her own back on.

"It pains me to see you wearing such plain clothes when you were clearly bred for nicer things, dear. Reminds me of me, not that I'm complaining, but it is nice to return to what I was used to. Do you ever miss it?"

She didn't know, to be honest. She was so busy with her day to day life that she hadn't had time to think of how different it was than her upbringing, and being in the Chantry, she was exposed to sisters from all walks of life, all of whom spoke and dressed as finely as they could afford when they weren't in Chantry robes. She'd never thought of what it might be like to have access to that life again, other than the small tastes of it she'd had in this estate. So, she thought of the only way she could say it. "Sometimes, but it's a fleeting thing."

Leandra smiled at her. "I suppose you have higher priorities," she said. "I did, too. Don't lose sight of what's really important." She smoothed the velvet dress onto the bed, folding it. "He's a good boy."

She supposed she was referring to Fenris, who'd become more talkative in the last few months, and had been careful to treat the older woman with a fair amount of chivalry in the time they'd been spending at the Amell estate. In Leandra's view, it seemed he was no longer as "rough around the edges" as she'd originally claimed.

Leandra ushered her out of the room. "I think I have just the pieces of jewelry to match this dress, as well. He'll find you irresistible. Now, go downstairs and see if you can teach my son and his lover a proper waltz, before I have to whack it into them."

Orana had brought the lute down and was ready to play, and the men were sitting around the hearth when she finally came down.

"Took you long enough," said Hawke with a smile. "Find something you like?"

Althaea nodded. "You have good taste, Hawke. I found a dress made of some fabric you bought a few years back."

"The one Mother made for Bethy?"

"The very same."

Hawke smiled. "Glad to see it'll get some use." He winked at Fenris, who blinked bemusedly. "You're going to love it."

Fenris looked at her questioningly, and Althaea only shrugged with a smile. "You just get to wait a week. Shall we?"

It took the better part of an hour, but with Orana playing actual music, they actually began to catch the gist of the step. Althaea continued to clap the rhythm, talking her instructions as they circled each other.

"_One,_ two three. _One_, two three. _Pick up_ that foot."

It was Anders who tripped this time, letting out a stream of expletives.

"You're waiting too long to step to the side," said Fenris, looking rather amused in his chair. "You're perhaps a half-second too late, and you're both trying to lead."

Althaea watched him point out what she'd been trying to say and smiled. The man never ceased to surprise her, and she wondered if he'd been taught to dance as part of his duties or was simply a quick study.

"Maybe _you'd_ like to give us a demonstration, then?" Anders's indignant arms were crossed, and Althaea wished she could put down their mutual enmity down for just two damned seconds.

"Gladly," said Fenris, who then laughed as Anders reached a hand out to him. "But not with you." He unfolded himself from the chair and stepped toward Althaea, extending a hand. "May I have the pleasure?"

He bowed, she curtsied, and he took her hand in his. Orana struck up the same melody, at about the same tempo as the boys had been practicing.

Fenris proved a solid lead, but that didn't surprise Althaea in the least. His steady confidence in the step convinced her that he'd learned and performed this particular dance before. Orana paused for a second, and they glided to a stop in front of the hearth.

"I think we should give it a try at full tempo. Just for demonstration purposes," Althaea said. She wondered if she looked as flush as she felt; it wasn't just the exertion of the dance that was making her feel like blushing. She'd never seen this side of Fenris before. True, he was always genteel and usually quite reserved, especially in public. But his well-stated rivalry with Anders had brought out a swagger she'd never seen before, and frankly, she was finding she rather liked it.

He smiled down at her. There was a light in his eyes, a bright, mischievous glow that would have made her crumble into little bits if she wasn't in front of three people who would never quit pointing it out. _Well...two. _"I agree. Orana, can you play something a little more uptempo?"

The diminutive elf nodded, smiling, and played a different melody this time - a quicker version of the song from the Minanter she loved so much. It was perfect. Too perfect.

He whirled her across the cleared floor, taking her around and around; her skirts twirled with the motion and she found herself drawn up with delight, something she hadn't felt in the dance since she was so young. The world melted away. There was no Hawke watching, no Anders, no demonstration; only the cold stone floor of the Amell estate under her bare feet, and the warmth of the hearth, his hands, his mossy green eyes. Kirkwall could have burned around her in those minutes and still she would have had the dance.

As Orana wound the song down, he took her into a dip, searching her eyes with a smile of wonderment.

When they finally disconnected, she noticed Hawke had a very cute smirk on his face, one she'd never seen him wear before. He clapped a little in appreciation. Anders simply stared on.

Fenris stood up straight, still with an arm around Althaea's shoulder. This was the most affection he'd ever shown her outside the privacy of either of their homes, and she wasn't about to complain. She knew everyone in Hawke's party knew they'd coupled up, so there shouldn't have been anything new about this sudden display, not to them at least.

He cleared his throat. "Which one of you is planning on leading?"

Anders pointed at Hawke, and Hawke shrugged. Fenris gently nudged Althaea his way with a smile, and they paired up. For the next hour, Fenris and Althaea called out instructions to their partners, and eventually they managed to get the two to perform a much better version of the waltz than they'd been able to perform.

"We can try again tomorrow," Althaea said as she bade the two goodbye and allowed Orana to show them out.

* * *

When she appeared sure they were alone, walking toward Fenris's mansion, Althaea grinned up at him. "That was amazing. Where did you learn to dance?"

Fenris decided to steal words she used on a regular basis: "It's a skill I learned in passing." The phrase, of course, was code for "it was one of my duties as a slave"; she never seemed as comfortable with her past as he was, so he usually tried to be sensitive about it, even if it meant resorting to euphemisms.

"It was...it was wonderful." The wistful satisfaction in her tone made him fumble with the key in the lock, but he managed to get the door open without further trouble.

"I'm glad I could impress," he said.

Once in the study, he began to divest himself of his clothing, a simple, casual gesture he knew she appreciated. He'd never really been uncomfortable with doing so around her, per se, but it had taken a while for him to stop associating nudity with feelings of embarrassment and humiliation. He wondered if she realized just how much being able to do something like this meant to him, or how comforting it was just to be able to sleep next to her, skin to skin. The feel of her next to him was soothing, and when she wasn't around he found he tossed and turned on his bed or his bedroll.

"Copper for your thoughts?" she asked. She was folding her chemise and placing it on the trunk at the foot of the bed. Her hair fell loose, concealing most of her body, but he found himself smiling at the familiar curve of her hip, her tiny feet, her ink-stained hands, and found himself gravitating in her direction.

"Just admiring the view," he said, pushing the fall of her hair to one shoulder and rubbing her shoulders idly. She hummed in contentment as he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, the only part he could reach without bending over uncomfortably.

"That feels good," she said. "Do you think you can do that a little more?"

"Happily," he said. He knew he never needed an excuse to touch her, but always liked it when she asked for things like this. "Come," he said, gently directing her toward the bed. "I can get a better angle if you lay down."

While he was rubbing at a particularly tense knot in her lower back, she turned her head to the side. "I'm so excited for this party," she said, voice muffled by the pillow "Are you?"

"I can't say I've thought about it. I went last year as well; it was far more formal than I was comfortable with, and I found I felt rather conspicuous, so I left."

"You're not planning on leaving this time, are you?"

"Of course not," he said. "Well, not unless you'd like to leave." The knot was loosening, but not as well as he would have hoped, so he reached for a small bottle of oil on the nightstand to help with the task.

"Have you decided what you'll wear?"

"Lady Amell said she was going to have to take a fair amount from the hem of your dress. She offered to have a vest made out of it. Likely I'll pair it with something I already have."

"So we're to match!" she said. "We'll be the scandal of the evening, for sure."

Fenris chuckled. "It seems Lady Amell tipped our hand for us."

"Crafty woman. I suppose I can't blame her, though. We don't so much as hold hands on the streets." She rolled her shoulders and moved around a little, freeing herself from underneath him. "Your turn."

"But I -"

"No 'but's!" She tapped him on a shoulder, and he laid down so she could return the favor. When she got working, he found that his resistance was badly placed; there were at least two tough gnarls in his back and shoulder, likely from the fall he took earlier in the day.

"You're bruised," she said.

"It's not the first time," he said.

"I know." She kissed the bruise but took care to avoid it in her ministrations.

She put two more logs on the study fire and came back to the bed, snuggling up to him and pulling up the covers. "You never did tell me what you wanted for your feastday present."

"A nameday, and a feastday now, too? You're going to soften me up." All the same, he tried to think of something he might like. "I don't know. I'd like to practice my writing at home, but I burned all of Danarius's paper and quills and ink."

"You're easy to please," she said.

"I live to serve." He smirked. "And you?"

"I have everything I need."

"Bullshit," he said, and she scoffed, leaning into him.

"I don't need anything."

"Then, neither do I," he said.

"You're impossible!"

"Says the one who refuses to let me give her a feastday gift." He laughed as she punched him solidly in the upper arm. "Are you sure there's nothing you want?"

"Just you."

"Just me," he repeated, holding her closely. "I think I can work with that."

* * *

"No," said Galatea. "I'm pretty sure this should wind up translating to the genitive case. Look."

Althaea watched the young mage flip through the pages of a book to prove her point, then put her head in one hand and had a look around the library.

They'd been working on this particular passage for a while, and the evidence of it was all over the library: chalkboards laden with scribbles, piles of historical texts, scraps of paper and plates of half-eaten food. A couple of apprentices had attempted to come in and do some work, but hadn't been able to find the room to do so.

"Galatea," said Althaea, "Please tell me there's a reason you're using Budge."

"It's a solid book."

"Budge was an idiot," she said, plucking the book from Galatea's hands. "He didn't even know modern Arcanum, so how could he have been able to draw comparisons to old Tevene?"

Galatea rolled her eyes. "_I_ don't know much Arcanum, not as much as you anyway."

"You know more than Budge ever did, that's for sure, and you're not an idiot." She sighed. "Let's take a little break. We've been working for six hours; we should give ourselves some time to process."

Galatea leaned back in the chair she was sitting in, sighing. "Will you tell me more about Solas?" The woman had managed to identify Althaea's accent less than a week into working with her, and ever since then had pestered her for information about her home country. Despite her initial reservations, Althaea had eventually capitulated.

Althaea smiled. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about...the winter," she said, staring out the window, where the sky was gray and cold. It never snowed in Kirkwall, courtesy of the city's place on the sea, but ice storms were common, and Althaea didn't know what was worse.

"Well, I've never been to Ferelden, but I'm sure it's quite a bit warmer in Solas than it ever was at the Circle Tower."

"The winters in Ferelden are so harsh, even in the north. We're spared the worst of it because we can just warm ourselves with our mana, but out in the villages around the lake, they have to burn peat to keep from freezing in the hardest weeks. Some of them even sleep with their livestock so they don't lose them."

"Winters can be hard in Solas, but never so bad as that. There is plenty of wood for burning, and usually one didn't need much more than a thick wool cloak, though I did have fur-lined boots and gloves. Our tenant orcharders would move into the estate during the winter after the last of the autumn harvest. Then, after the first round of frosts, they would go to harvest for the year's ice wine. There would be a big feast after the first pressing, and everyone would get drunk on a barrel or two of last year's wine, or whatever hadn't already been shipped north."

"To Minrathous?"

"Yes, and usually straight to the Archon himself. Ice wine is expensive to make, and very limited in the run, so we'd keep our barrel for the yearly feast and export the rest."

"Will you tell me about Minrathous?"

"Well, I've only been a handful of times. It's a huge city, a port town, and very, very old. The women there dress like peacocks, the men too - almost as bad as Orlais, if you've ever been."

"I haven't."

"It's very, very old. I always felt very small in it."

"Hmm," said Galatea, clearly trying to imagine it.

"Galatea?"

"Mmm?"

"You haven't breathed a word to anyone about my stories, have you?"

"Well, everyone at the Circle seems to know you're from Tevinter, but I'm fairly certain word hasn't gotten to Meredith."

"Honestly, I'm sure she knows, too, at this point."

They were silent for a while, until Althaea had a thought. "Do you know if the Circle here does anything for Satinalia?"

"Yes, we're actually exchanging some gifts - Rickard is escorting me to market tomorrow. I'm so excited." Althaea fought the bloom of pity rising through her. Excited about a trip to market, because a mage roaming around Kirkwall without an escort would be grounds for execution...or the Rite of Tranquility.

"Do you mind if I ask how old were you when you came to the Circle?"

"I was six, but I was Chantry-raised before that. My mother was a Circle mage. I don't know where, though."

"How did your power manifest?"

Galatea laughed. "I froze my governess's dress to her seat!" Althaea laughed, too. Ice was Gaius's speciality as well, though she couldn't remember if that was how his power had shown itself. Then, the realization that Galatea had never known anything but life under the thumb of the Chantry hit her, a somber realization. She smiled past it, and the woman seemed none the wiser. She was one of the few who didn't know any better.

"We should get back to work," Althaea said, slamming the Budge shut and tossing it in a far corner. Galatea laughed again and didn't retrieve it.

* * *

Satinalia morning dawned clear, bright, and cold. A sheen of frost lay over Kirkwall, and Fenris woke as a gust of biting wind blew the shutters of the study open. It seemed even to penetrate the bedcurtains where they lay, warm and cozy.

He climbed out of bed, padding his way to the study hearth and poking the fire back into existence. It would be a little while before it was roaring again, but it was a start. He closed the shutters that had opened, donned a thick robe, and headed downstairs to prepare the morning he had in mind.

They were expected at Hawke's estate at noon to assist with preparations for the party. Or, _he_ was expected to assist with preparations; Althaea would likely be whisked off for preparations of her own. She didn't seem to mind Lady Amell's intentions, so he never fretted overmuch, but it did seem that the woman was attempting to groom her back into her old ways.

No. It was just as Hawke had said, time and again - Leandra was dying for a woman to spoil. Isabela would have nothing to do with it and Merrill accepted her attentions awkwardly, thus Althaea's deportment seemed to have made her the prime recipient.

He put the finishing touches on the tray. Breakfast was simple, and he was sure the day's lunch would be as well, but dinner tonight would certainly prove to be an affair and it would be best if neither of them ate too much over the course of the day to prepare. He plucked a hellebore flower from the garden and tucked it behind an ear, then made his way back upstairs.

The study fire had roared to life and it was comfortably warm in the room now, or as comfortable as it could get with an ice storm raging outside. Althaea had turned up on his doorstep the previous evening, wearing her fur-lined cloak and boots and finally admitting that Old Man Winter had turned up early.

Five years in Kirkwall, four winters, and he could never get used to the cold. It creeped up his spine and settled there, an unwelcome guest. It didn't help that he refused to garb himself in clothing appropriate for the season; his armor was the same as always, year after year, open in the back to shed heat in what would have been a hot Tevinter summer. Althaea had chided him a few times for his choice of clothing, but he'd shrugged her comments off, insisting that his oiled cloak was sufficient and that even with a layer of ice on the ground, boots were unnecessary. Looking outside as he drew open the bedcurtains, he was beginning to think that she had a point, perhaps on the boots at least. He'd be glad to be inside for most of the day.

Althaea was still asleep, and he woke her gently. A morning person she was not, and her various reactions to being woken up always made him laugh. This time she stretched unceremoniously and mumbled. It took the better part of five minutes to rouse her. Out in the field, she slept lightly, one ear open and ready to move in an instant, but if she knew she was safe? She was impossible. He supposed he should be flattered by that.

Finally she sat up and saw the tray sitting on the table in the study. She smiled.

"It's not quite breakfast in bed," he said, "but it's close."

She took the hellebore flower from behind his ear. "So it is true about hellebore, it blooms even when it ices over."

After they broke their fast and dressed, Althaea disappeared for a moment and returned with a bulky wrapped package and handed it to him. "Happy feastday to you."

"I thought we decided we weren't getting anything?"

"I couldn't help it," she said with a blush. "Couldn't stand seeing you so cold all the time."

It was a fur-lined cloak, not dissimilar to the one she owned, and embroidered at the hood and claspholds in silver. "I did the stitches myself...it's probably a little off, I was never good at embroidery. I hope you don't mind."

He fingered the soft fur of the cloak and the silver threading. Never had he owned anything so fine. It was too much, but...Maker, it was beautiful. "When did you find the time to do this?"

"There were a few nights when you weren't around, so I stayed at the Gallows and worked, instead of going home. It doesn't take too long if you're careful about it, and I thought it was a nice touch."

The silver threading mimicked the design of his markings, whorls and dots. A nice touch, indeed. Even before the embroidery, this cloak must have cost her a small fortune. "I can't accept this," he said.

"You can, and you will," she said. "You need to stay warm, and while you're a veritable radiator once you've gotten a chance to warm up, I don't know how much longer I can accept ice-cold fingers on me at night!"

He chuckled. "You win."

"Good. One more." This package was smaller, and when he opened it he found a good quantity of parchment, quill, ink and sealing wax. There was a separate, smaller box which contained a heavy metal stamp. On the bottom was an engraved wolf's head.

"Now _this_ I can't accept," he said.

"How else are you supposed to write me letters when you're away? Look." She rolled some of the contents together into a leather packet, which tied up nicely, a perfect size to stow in a pack. "The merchant said that it's waterproof when you wrap it correctly."

He stared down at the packet as if it might bite him, ignoring the expectant look on her face. Two fine things, one of which was partially handcrafted, and he'd never so much as thought of something for her. Idiot.

"I didn't get you anything," he said, and her eyebrows knitted together as she took the packet from his hands and placed it to the side.

"I told you all I wanted was you." She kissed him, and he let himself relax. "Now come on, the last thing we want to do is keep Leandra waiting."

* * *

Just as Fenris suspected, Leandra swept Althaea up within minutes of their arrival at the estate. She only stayed long enough to bark orders at Hawke and Anders, who responded with disgruntled assent. They must have been hearing such things all morning at this point; the foyer already appeared half-decorated for the evening's festivities.

Fenris jumped in to help, balancing a ladder so Hawke could hang garlands of pine and berries from the rafters, and replace the candles in sconces while Anders attempted detangling ribbons and bows on the floor in front of the hearth.

"I heard Mother was making you a vest to match Violet's dress." It seemed nobody called her by her proper name, these days; she was either _Violet _or _Allie_ or _Lady Serra._ He seemed to be the only one who didn't have a name for her.

"Did you hear, or did she tell you?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" Hawke gestured for another garland, and Fenris reached it up to him. Hawke sighed. "If you must know, yes, she told me."

"Your mother has a sense of humor, it seems."

"Nonsense," Hawke said. He mumbled through tacks in his mouth. "Your relationship with Violet is no secret to any of us. Matching vests just made sense to her."

"She had to have known it would cause an uproar. It's not like they can assume I'm a servant. They all call me 'friend of the Champion', even if they won't take my coin when you're not around."

Hawke paused a moment to drive a tack deep into one of the branches of the garland. "There's no need to be so miserable about it, Fenris, and besides, what's life without causing at least one scandal? You're fond of her, right?"

Fenris mumbled in response. Hawke rolled his eyes and hammered another tack in, securing the garland. "Right?"

"_Venhedis,_ Hawke. Yes, I'm fond of her, any idiot could tell that!"

"It's actually a little hard to tell, or at least it would be outside of our circle. You're very reserved. And Vi, well, I can tell she doesn't want to be, but she definitely holds back on your account. You've never noticed it?"

He had, but he appreciated her effort and made sure to reward it lavishly in private. "I have," he said.

"Well then, tonight may be the night to do something about it," Hawke said. He jumped down from the ladder, causing Fenris to reinforce his deathgrip on it.

"I'm not sure what you're saying."

"Just...well, go against your better judgement. Don't be so...stuffy. Relax and be a little more demonstrative, and to the Void with anyone who wants to make a fuss."

Fenris sat on one of the stools nearby, shaking his head in exasperation. "That makes almost no sense, Hawke."

Hawke laughed and stole a glance at Anders; the mage was doing his best to pretend he couldn't hear the conversation. "Yes, well, I know you don't have a lot of experience in the matter, but when has love ever made sense?"

* * *

Althaea stood on a stool in Leandra's room while the older made a few last-minute adjustments to her dress. While the boys were busy putting the finishing touches on the estate's decor, they'd gotten to the much longer process of preparing themselves for the evening's party. It had felt a little like the preparations for the ball in Val Royeaux, months ago now, but different: she was being whipped into shape by two friends, rather than a small army of servants.

_No_, she thought, _they're more like...family, now. _Leandra hung a necklace dripping with amber around her neck. The woman was already dressed and ready to go, and they were to have a small gift exchange in the foyer before the first of their guests was scheduled to arrive. Althaea had fretted at this announcement, but Leandra had put her at ease; it was just a small token for each of them, after all, following Fereldan tradition for the Satinalia feastday. She insisted it would be little more than a small calm before the storm.

When they finally went downstairs, she found that the boys had positively festooned the foyer, the dining hall, and the salon; garlands were mounted on every available lintel, and from some of them, a sprig of juniper berries hung a few inches down.

Hawke elbowed her and smiled in response to her look of confusion. "See the berries? Any time someone meets another under them, one or the other can steal a kiss." And he did, causing Althaea to pause. "And then, you take a berry from the sprig. When the berries are gone, so are the stolen kisses." He laughed. "It's a Fereldan tradition."

"Clearly," she said, wiping her mouth. Hawke led her to the plush carpet in front of the hearth, where Anders already sat. Leandra had wandered off to fetch the presents.

"Where's Fenris?" she asked.

"Coming," he said. He took the estate's stairs two at a time and parked himself next to her on the carpet, a warm half-smile on his face. His garb was very becoming; the vest very nearly matched the color of his eyes, and the rest of him was clad in black silk. He hadn't chosen to wear shoes, this time, though. No matter; Althaea's slippers were soft and unheeled, and if she stepped on him he'd hardly feel a thing.

"You look lovely," he said. He fingered a lock of her hair and smiled, more fully this time; she'd left it loose for this express purpose.

"Thank you," she said. "You look very fine." She brushed a few stray hairs out of his face, tucking them behind an ear. "It's getting a little long."

"I know."

"Did you want me to cut it tomorrow?"

He shook his head. "I've been toying with the idea of letting it grow out. Something you said a while back made me think of it."

She tried to remember when she might have said anything about that, but couldn't. He drew her in and rested his chin on the top of her head, startling her.

"Who are you and what have you done with Fenris?"

The surprised outburst caused him to laugh. "Consider it an experiment."

"A...what?"

"An experiment. Didn't you say you wanted to be the scandal of Hightown?" Then, in a lower voice, almost a whisper, and in Arcanum: "You said you wanted me for a feastday gift."

"Well, yes," she answered in kind. "but this wasn't exactly how I meant it. Are you sure you're all right with this?"

"No," he said, "but I have to step out of my comfort zone at some point, right? If I hadn't in the first place, we wouldn't be here right now."

_The happiest man on the Minanter is he who travels with the flow of it._ "All right," she said. "I'll just follow your lead."

Leandra arrived then, carrying a basket laden with small wrapped packages, and sat on the carpet. At this point Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana had also joined.

"Everyone needs to take a bundle and pass the basket. Leave them wrapped for now," she said, and they obeyed.

When everyone had a package, they were allowed to unwrap them. Fenris had received a small embroidered coin purse; Althaea, a thin scarf made of an impossibly soft yellow material. She tied the scarf around her waist as a belt; it made an effective impression. They relaxed in front of the fire for a few long moments, enjoying the warmth of the flames, until Orana got up in a hurry and rushed to the kitchen.

Leandra sighed. "Well, to your stations, everyone, and remember to have fun." She winked at Althaea as she ducked into the salon.

* * *

All things considered, Althaea thought the night had gone rather well; Fenris held her hand as they strolled down the Hightown promenade, headed back to his manse for the night.

They'd been mostly ignored for the night, which had been fortunate. Aside from a few introductions by Leandra, they'd stuck to the improvised dance floor. They'd had a decent time, but still left early; if the local gentry invited to the soiree had been scandalized by Fenris's sudden display of affection, they hadn't shown it. Hawke and Anders had seen to that, hanging all over each other like a couple of sick lovebirds and causing a few whispers to go up in the crowd, mostly having to do with the end of the Amell line. Althaea didn't understand that sentiment. In Tevinter, an adopted child or even an apprentice could continue a family name. She dismissed it as just another odd tradition of the south.

They continued down the street, passing various stands of trees as they meandered along. The ice storm had ended, and the night was clear and cold. "You danced beautifully tonight," Fenris said. "I don't believe I've ever told you how much I like to see you dance."

She blushed. "It's nice to have someone I care about to dance with." She squeezed the hand she was holding, realizing that this was the first time they'd ever done so in the open air of the city. "I...I don't know when you decided to do this experiment of yours, but I have to say I quite like the results."

"Something you'd like to repeat, then?"

"Most definitely," she said. They arrived, went upstairs and into the study, where Fenris went about the business of teasing the coals of the hearth back into a fire. When it finally cooperated, he removed his clothing, as simply as he usually did.

She decided she'd be a little less casual about her own undressing, though, but she would have needed his help getting out of the fine velvet dress anyway. She grinned, and gave him an impish glance that turned his eyes into saucers. "I could use some help with these buttons," she said. It was a tone she knew he loved, a mixture of sexy and sweet, demure and seductive. One day she swore she'd be able to drive him mad with her teasing, and perhaps he'd be able to push past whatever fear was holding him back and just _take _her. After all that he'd done this evening, she wondered if maybe that night would be tonight.

He slowly unbuttoned her dress, exposing skin still heavily freckled with the last sunshine of summer. She'd always hated her freckles; of Aloysius's children, only she and Phoebus had inherited them. Unless she covered up every bit of her arms and shoulders and spread white zinc across her cheeks in the summer she always fell prey to the damned things, but Fenris had chuckled at her dismay and kissed every single dark spot on her face until she'd been convinced of his opinion of them. "Adorable," he'd murmured into her shoulder one night, and she'd smiled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

When she was young, she'd always silently despaired at being described as adorable, or cute. In Septimus's service, the term had been rarely applied, and the men she was lent out to her took her with gusto, but that had never struck her as a comforting thought. Now there was a man in the world, someone who seemed to think she could be both cute _and_ sexy, and the thought of it made her flush with happiness, with desire, with...well, everything. His statement hadn't offended her the way she'd thought it might.

It was too perfect, and she prayed silently to the Maker that it would last. She felt the tips of his fingers run up and down her spine, making her quiver involuntarily. He chuckled and laid a kiss at the nape of her neck, letting the dress fall to a puddle around her feet and leaving her only in her sleeveless chemise.

She turned around and took the straps around her thumbs, smirking and watching his darkened eyes follow her hands as she shimmied out of it, kicking the pile of clothes out of the way. She leaned in for a kiss and he returned it hungrily, desperately, pulling both of them down into the nest of blankets beneath. The laughter came, much as it seemed to do lately; but this time, she didn't struggle to reconcile the laughing man in her bed with another one. Tonight he'd been neither solemn nor sullen. He'd laughed, he was charming, he was everything he was in the privacy of their home.

They continued this way for a time, exchanging playful touches and kisses, laughing and rolling together, tasting one another and just enjoying each other's presence. The world slipped away, the cold moonlight flowed in through the windows, and she watched his dark eyes following her movements as she straddled him and ran her arms up and down the length of his body. He teased her hair out of its braids, letting it fall in waves around him, various locks of it falling along parts of him as he wound his fingers in it. He shook his head with a smirk and a sigh, and she leaned in to kiss him again.

Suddenly, though, the look in his eyes darkened further and he _growled_, a noise that started deep in his chest and reverberated through her. He sat up and turned them around until he was the one straddling her. He kissed and nipped at her neck, working his way down her collarbone and her sternum until he cupped one of her breasts in his hand and sucked on one of her nipples, causing it to harden under his touch. This was new and surprising, but not unwelcome, so she moaned and arched her back under his attentions.

When he seemed satisfied that the change in pace hadn't bothered her, he buried his head in the nook between her neck and shoulder again, pinning one of her wrists with a strong, sure hand.

He whispered into her ear, and the sound of it sent a shudder from the source down to her toes. "You will tell me if anything is wrong. Do you understand?"

She nodded mutely, quite liking the display of assertiveness. It was just another facet of him, and she knew that he'd never violate her trust, so she was more than happy to give in to it.

"Good," he said, approval rumbling across her as he moved next to her and began to caress her, open palmed, slowly and firmly. When she reached to touch him, he simply guided her hand away and back up to where he had pinned it, above her head.

The touch was so slow, and she ached for him, feeling the moisture pooling in the warmth between her legs.

"You said you only wanted me for a gift," he muttered as he continued the agonizing march of his hand down her hip and the outside of her thigh. "I want to give it to you." He finally brought his other hand up against the soft mound of her sex and smiled.

He smiled at her. "I'm going to try something new." He reached one of his questing fingers into her and activated the lyrium there. The shock of it sent her bucking into him, and he smirked, apparently happy with the results.

"New trick?" she asked, panting. The feel of it, while surprising, had been amazing. "Who taught you that one?"

"No teaching," he said. "I just watch, and listen." He brought the fingers around the pearl nestled in the folds of her, making firm, slow whorls against it. The world around her was fading away, leaving only him, and her...and perhaps the bed.

"You're so wet," he said, removing the hand and licking the moisture from her off it. When he kissed her again, she tasted herself, commingled with the taste of his mouth, spice and wine and somehow, that strange taste of juniper beneath it all. The relish in his voice made her even wetter, and he reached back down to stroke and roll his fingers against her flesh again.

It was torment. He reached into her, stroking her pearl in the same stroke as he pressed his fingers into her, first one, then two, then three. He covered her mouth with his, tongue exploring just as his fingers were. Any time her hands dared leave their place above her head, he would return them to their designated position.

Some of Septimus's friends had been fond of rope, and rope would have proven too much for her. But Fenris's gentle reminders somehow made her feel secure, and happy to submit to his attentions. She relaxed into him and allowed him to have his way with her, to heal her with his touch, to prove every one of those men wrong, to rewind the scroll of her past. She rode waves of pleasure, each crest just a little taller than the last, but soon found she needed more.

"Please," she said to him as he broke a kiss. "I need you. I need..." She reached down, ignoring the invisible barrier, and brushed against his length, moving her fingers along the soft, sparse down of him. The touch earned her a strangled moan and a hiss.

"No," he said, placing her hand back up above her head and continuing to move his fingers in long strokes against her.

"No?" she asked.

"No," he said, smiling. "I want you to do something for me, first."

"What's that?" He was still stroking her firmly, undulating movements that made her shiver and arch underneath his touch.

He began to pick up speed, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I want you to come for me, and I want you to cry out my name, when you do." He took her mouth with his, just as he took the rest of her with his hand, and the sound of his voice and the taste of his tongue and the feel of his hand entangled so confidently in the folds of her congealed. Stars floated above her eyes and she obliged him in what proved to be a keening wail.

The crest of it was gone, but quickly replaced as he buried himself in her with what sounded like a sigh of relief. "I want to make you come again," he said, as he began to move inside her, his strong legs moving him in and out. With both hands free, he pinned her wrists above her head as he finally took his own pleasure.

It was no large feat to request, it seemed. The wave had started to build again, and she had tightened against him. There was nothing sinister about it, nothing to suggest he'd betray her implicit trust. He murmured soft words, though the syllables were butchered and impossible to decipher, and occasionally she picked out her name among them.

If this was good, wait until he could see what else she had in store. She tilted her hips up and hooked her legs around him, deepening his entry and causing his breath to hitch. The angle caused him to rub against a particularly good spot inside her and she ground her hips against his as best she could to take advantage of the movement.

When he brought his head down to kiss her, she turned her lips to the side and reached up to whisper in his ear. "Your turn," she said, in a low growl to match his. His thrusts grew deeper and faster, pitching and rolling, and he began to shine dully.

"Say my name, Fenris," she said, and he obliged her as his movements began to grow more and more erratic. He was close. She freed her hands and grasped at his backside, urging him even deeper.

"Come for me," she said, watching his pupils blow wide and dark as she said it. He buried his face into her neck as he buried his length in her, emptying himself inside her and eventually falling into her, sighing in the satisfaction of it. She cleaned herself up and curled up next to him, threading her fingers through his hair as he smiled and looked tiredly into her eyes.

"What were you saying?" he asked.

"What did you mean?" She hadn't been saying anything that she remembered.

"You were speaking in a different tongue. Antivan, maybe. You called me _cariño._"

"Did you not like it?"

"I...I actually don't know," he said, pulling the covers of the bed closed around them. The fire was still burning merrily in the hearth and they had warmed the bed, but it was a cold night and unless they closed the curtains, they'd find themselves freezing as soon as it burned out. "I suppose it depends on what it means."

"It's just a term of endearment. If it bothers you, I won't say it again...I actually didn't even know I said it. Or perhaps I could use Orlesian, instead, _mon cœur_?"

He laughed, and she was glad for it. She'd dearly hoped her slip hadn't bothered him; it was another name that wasn't his, after all. "No," he said. "If that's all it is, you can call me what you like." He stroked her cheek. "In fact, I think I could get used to it. I find your foreign tongues quite...intriguing."

"And sexy?"

"That should go without saying."

She giggled, snuggling into him and uttering a steady stream of Orlesian.

"I hope those are all good things."

"_Claro que sí._" Antivan, this time, but she figured he probably couldn't tell the difference. If he tried, he could pick out the root words, as both languages originated from the old Tevene.

"Mmm," he murmured against her hair. "Now, if only you were as well battled as you were well spoken, we'd be in wonderful shape."

"Nobody's perfect," she said, and didn't say anything more, simply relaxing against him and letting sleep take her.

* * *

**Postscript**: Wow, guys. Sorry that one took so long, but it was definitely a slog. I hope it doesn't read as badly as I feel it does...and if it does, just do me a favor and hang in there because I have some great plans that involve some re-shuffling of canon timeline - just have to get them written. I'm actually starting that as soon as I post this, so hopefully you won't have to wait long.

In the words of Stephen King, my very favorite, very unwitting mentor: "Sometimes you have to go on when you don't feel like it, and sometimes you're doing good work when it feels like all you're managing is to shovel shit from a sitting position." Good work or not, I'm in it for the long haul, and I am DEFINITELY going to finish telling this story.

Love and light - OrielleD


	17. Alone

**A/N: **I'm going to do my best to avoid the re-hash of game events here, filling in the blanks instead. As you can tell, we're going a little AU here, moving some Act 3 stuff to the second intermission. You'll also notice this is a little shorter than usual - I'm going to post shorter chapters to try and keep up with a weekly posting schedule.

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: ALONE**

Althaea stalked through the dark hallways of the manse in utter silence. Her quarry was sitting with his back turned and facing a small fire. She unsheathed her dagger; he gave no impression he'd heard the action.

Five feet. Four, three, two -

"Avanna." Fenris looked over his shoulder, smiling, then stood up to greet her with a passionate kiss.

"How long ago did you start to hear me?"

"Not too long ago. You were perhaps six or seven feet away when I became aware of your presence."

"Better than the last few times, then."

He nodded and sat again, gesturing for her to follow. "And close enough to deliver a well-placed strike, if you moved quickly enough. In fact, I'm convinced you could get within a foot or two of the average human."

"Good to know," she said. She leaned up against him. "I got your letter this morning."

Fenris chuckled. "Somehow I was hoping it would beat me here."

"I still appreciated it," she said. "How was your trip?"

"Just when I thought I'd had enough Orlesian excess to last a lifetime, Hawke drags me to some idiot's stronghold to spare the lives of a few hundred Qunari." He sighed. "I'll never understand his motivations."

Althaea laughed. Hawke was an interesting character, to say the least, and always seemed to have his nose in someone's business or another. However, they worked well on the field of battle; Fenris's more aggressive style complimented Hawke's defensive shield work. With a set of daggers and a healer, whatever team they formed was nigh unstoppable.

They sat in a comfortable silence, but Althaea sensed a bit of something off about him - not quite anxiety, but neither was he as settled and confident as he usually was. "Is something wrong?" she asked. She hoped there wasn't.

Another sigh. "A letter came for me while I was gone," he said. "From Varania." He eyed the still-sealed letter on the table as if it might bite him.

He'd finally sent the first of his correspondence to his sister after Firstday, and it was late spring, now. She hadn't believed him at first, but after a tenuous exchange of letters, he had sent her coin enough to take ship to Kirkwall. Why hadn't he opened it, then? Was he afraid of the contents?

"Shall we open it together?" she asked, reaching for it and handing it to him. He opened it with shaking hands; they calmed a little when she put a comforting arm around him. "It's going to be all right, I'm sure of it."

His eyes scanned the page slowly and he muttered the words he read under his breath. "She's here," he said. "She made it." He stared into the flames.

"Will you go to her?" Althaea asked.

"I don't know," he said. "I've been waiting as long as I can remember for this...but I don't know. It could be a trap."

"What if it isn't, Fenris? You've told me so many times that she's the key. There's so little you remember and it's killing you." She fiddled with the ponytail he'd grown in the past few months. "Hawke will go with you. He's pledged his sword, and Seb's pledged you his bow. You're not alone in this."

"And you?"

"I? Well, it should go without saying that I support you, no matter what decision you make."

"What decision would you make?" he asked. He'd tucked his chin into his knees, and Althaea brought her hand up and down his back.

"If I had a chance to have Cora here with me, or Phoebus...I'd jump at it, no questions asked." As she said it, she wondered if Varric had heard any news of Cora, if perhaps the very thing Fenris was agonizing over might be possible for _her_.

He leaned his head against her. "All right. I'll have someone scout the situation out, and then we'll go."

"We?"

"This is going to be difficult for me. I could use you for moral support." He got up and started preparing for bed.

She curled up to him for the first night in almost three weeks, too tired to do anything but sleep. She'd go with him, but secretly, she shared his worry. If it was a trap, they'd certainly have more trouble on their hands than they expected. She resolved to spend more time on the range, just in case.

The air of Kirkwall outside the Hanged Man was unusually hot and humid. It clung to Althaea's skin, rendering her sweat useless. It seemed appropriate weather for the day's business as they stood outside the tavern. Fenris held a hand on the knob, hesitating; Althaea looked up at him, nodded, and helped him turn it. He'd been holding her hand, almost clinging to it, but as he stepped through the threshold, he dropped it and straightened up, taking a deep breath.

"You can do this," she said to him. He nodded and walked into the main room of the tavern.

Varania was unmistakable. She had copper-colored hair, but the family resemblance was pronounced. They shared a set of eyes. Althaea wondered absently if Fenris had borne the same flaming hair himself, before the ritual.

"It really is you," she said. Her voice was honey to his silk, but her tone was oddly bereft. Althaea's heart sank; she was beginning to feel that this would not end well. She stayed silent as she watched Fenris. His eyes sparkled with sudden recognition, the kind she'd seen only a few times before.

"I remember you," he said. "We played in our master's courtyard while Mother worked. You called me -"

"Leto," she said, standing up. There were tears in her eyes, and it seemed all the color had gone from her. "That's your name."

He was confused, she could tell that much. The feeling of an impending...something sank even more heavily around her, settling on her neck like the choking damp of the air. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Why are you so...?"

"I'll give you three guesses," said Hawke as they looked up the stairs. Fenris's expression morphed from confusion to abject fear. It was something she'd never seen in him before, and she imagined she didn't look much different; her heart was racing as she watched the magister Danarius stride down the stairs, several Tevinter soldiers in tow.

"Ah, my little Fenris, predictable as always," he said as he casually walked in their direction. She knew this man's face, had seen him on one or two of her trips to Minrathous. She racked her brain, then remembered Fenris's impassive face standing a few feet behind him. She'd known him before they'd met!

Stepping away from Fenris's side would only draw attention to herself, so she cast her eyes down, willing herself to breathe slowly. The magister was one of the more powerful mages she'd met while in her father's attendance. If he remembered or recognized her, her ruse would be up. She cast away the selfish thought. _I'm here for Fenris. I'm here for Fenris. You can't see me, Danarius. You can't see me._

"I'm sorry it came to this, Leto," Varania said. She couldn't meet his eyes. How could she do this? What had driven her to it?

"You led him here!" The fear and anger rolling off him were palpable, and for the first time since meeting him, she was genuinely afraid of him, of what he might do.

"Now, now, Fenris," the magister said. "She did what any good Imperial citizen should." His tone was casual, but she knew his intent would be anything but. It was amazing how well one could hide their true feelings, if one lived among the high castes of Tevinter long enough.

"I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius, but I won't let you kill me to get them!"

Danarius laughed and said, "How little you know, my pet." Althaea felt dirty. "And this is your new master, then - the Champion of Kirkwall? Impressive."

"Fenris doesn't belong to anyone," Hawke said. His fingers were twitching, ready to reach for his sword and shield at any moment. Behind him stood Sebastian and Anders, both watching and waiting for their cues.

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?" Danarius asked. "It's not surprising. The lad is rather skilled, isn't he?" Then he drew closer to Fenris, and Althaea felt his gaze burn upon her. "And this," he said. _Kaffas._ "Why don't you look up at me, pretty thing?"

_Look at me, pretty thing. _The compulsion nipped at her, foul tendrils of magic.

_Look at me. _She fought it with all she had.

_Look. _She was able to resist for almost five full seconds before a filthy incorporeal hand seized her chin and turned it up in his direction. Danarius cocked a humorless smirk at his victory.

"I thought I recognized you," he said, then turned his attention back to Fenris. Rid of the compulsion, she knitted her brows together, humiliated and angry and violated by the act of magic he'd just performed on her. "Made a friend, I see, my little wolf?"

"Your quarrel is with me, Danarius," Fenris said, stepping in front of Althaea. Feeling reinforced, she eyed the magister with a baleful, defiant stare. "Leave her alone."

"I beg to differ, my pet. Your...friend would be of great use to me. The Archon would pay dearly for her, I'm sure of it."

"What use would the Archon have for me?" she found herself asking.

"Oh, well, I'm sure he'd just be happy to have his little peach home," Danarius said. "Or haven't you heard? I suppose not, his ascension was rather recent, and news travels slowly from the north."

Her heart stopped. _No._ She looked and saw Hawke, Seb, and Anders staring at her. "I didn't know," she said, feeling helpless. She repeated the words to Fenris, who was looking at her in what she could only interpret as disgust. "I didn't know."

Fenris narrowed his eyes and lit up. "Leave us be, Danarius," he said.

The magister sighed and gathered mana around his channeling hand. "The word is _master._"

Althaea took a few steps back and readied her bow, allowing Fenris and Hawke to step forward in their customary two point formation. Varania slunk to the corner of the tavern to stay out of the battle.

As she shot arrow after arrow, Fenris's voice floated up in her mind. _Tunnel vision on the field is a fast way to get yourself killed. _Anders stepped near her. "Give me an arrow," he said, and she obeyed. He passed a hand over it, imbuing it with energy. She nocked it and took aim.

She hated this man. She barely even knew him, and she hated him. He'd made victims of Fenris - _Leto? Does he even want to be called that?_ - and Varania both, and now he wanted to drag her back to Minrathous, little more than a token, a present for her father. High Senate to Archon in less than a year? He had to have made a pact.

If she hit him in the heart, it'd all be over, and she'd be safe, but Fenris would never forgive her. She knew he'd have to die by the elf's hand or none at all. Instead, she pulled the arrow down and coated the tip in magebane, then aimed for the shoulder attached to his channeling arm. That'd do him, if only for long enough to end the fight.

She loosed the arrow, and it hit true. Unable to cast, the magister stepped behind his flunkies; Fenris and Hawke made short work of them. Seb muttered a prayer and shot an arrow through one of the soldiers, execution-style. It was over.

Fenris strode toward Danarius, who was panting, and pulled the arrow from his shoulder. He phased his hand through the magister's chest, lifting him bodily in the air; the sick crunch of his flesh brought bile up Althaea's throat. She fought against the rising tide of it, looking away. Anders put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"You are no longer my master," Fenris said, letting the magister fall to the floor. Blood splashed her face as what could only be his heart fell to the floor with a gruesome _plop_.

He whirled on Varania, who cowered. "I had no choice, Leto."

"Stop calling me that!"

"He was going to make me his apprentice. I would have been a magister."

"You sold out your own brother to become a magister?"

"You have no idea what I've been through since Mother died. This was my only chance!" _Listen to her, Fenris, listen, _she willed him silently._ Danarius would never have followed through. She was a helpless pawn in his sick game. Listen!_

"And now you have no chance at all," he said, lighting up again.

"Please!" Varania addressed Hawke now, who took a step back, hands up. "Don't let him do this!"

"I'm just a neutral party," he said. Then Varania met Althaea's eyes with a silent repeat of her plea.

_No. _No matter what, this was his sister. She'd seen the spark of recognition in his eyes when they first lit upon her, and wondered how much he'd remembered, just from those first few seconds. How much more would come back to him if he'd had longer? Would the memories be a trickle, or a torrent? _This can't happen. He'll regret it for the rest of his life._

She acted without conscious volition, then, as Fenris reached a bloody hand toward Varania. She felt herself rip him away from her before he could act; felt him slam her against the wall of the tavern. "You dare!" he said, holding her against the wall. The joints of his gauntlets dug deeply into the flesh of her neck, drawing blood. Did he even realize what he was doing, so consumed with his rage? It hurt. She was so afraid.

She struggled to breathe, and darkness ate at the corners of her vision. "Let her go," Seb said, and he did. Was that surprise on his face? Fear of his own? She couldn't tell. She sank to the floor, but by then Varania had escaped to the streets.

"You dare!" he repeated. He was angry, again, then, having quite forgotten his momentary regret.

"She's your sister, Fenris," Althaea said. She had to choke the words out from behind her bruised throat. "She was as much a victim of Danarius as you."

"How could you?" he asked.

"I did what my heart told me to do!" _The Maker speaks to us within our hearts, _she thought. Tonight was no exception.

"Yes, your bleeding heart," Fenris sneered. "One of these days, that's going to earn you a dagger in the back."

"Better a bleeding heart than none at all."

"And the dagger? What then? What happens when the blood mage, or that…that _abomination_ turns on you?"

"I'll die when the Maker wills it, and no sooner -"

"Your sodding Maker? Haven't you noticed that He is the one who let all this happen to you in the first place?"

She set her jaw and put steel in her voice, despite the tears stinging her eyes. "The Maker won't set a challenge in front of me that I am not capable of rising above. I put my trust in Him, and so should you."

"I put my trust in nothing but my sword and armor, Althaea. It was a lesson taught to me over and over again, beginning when that scum_-_" he gestured toward the magister's corpse - "cut me open and forced raw lyrium under my skin. Magic has tainted everything that I have, and everything you had, as well. You can't see it - instead of standing to fight, you content yourself with your books and your home, and your fine things -"

"I content myself with my friends and my work and my love for _you_. Fine things mean nothing to me without them!"

"And yet you would let the magisters, or the Chantry, strip even that away! You would lie down like some sort of…carpet for whoever might want to take your freedom!"

"There is no way my father knows of my presence. I can assure you of that."

"How?" His voice had devolved into some sort of anguished yell. "How do you know he isn't sending a legion of troops here to capture you? He has the power to do it now!"

"Archon or not, Fenris, I'm sure he is content with the assumption that I am dead in the wilderness, or enslaved again by virtue of the brand on my back. He will not come for me."

"Augh!" Fenris spat, pacing a hole into the floor. She let Seb anchor her as she reached for him. He shook the touch away.

"Please listen to me," she said. "If you're looking for the reason you can't move on, this is it."

He was silent for a moment, then pinned her with his narrowed gaze. "Get out."

"Fenris, I-"

"Get _out_," he roared, and Althaea did, turning her steps to the door and ignoring the small audience that had gathered around them.


	18. Things Fall Apart

**A/N:** As always, the concept and character of Althaea Serra belong to me...everything else belongs to BioWare. It's their sandbox. I just play in it.

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THINGS FALL APART**

She was home. Althaea dimly remembered Seb calling out after her, but stopping at the threshold of the Hanged Man's entry; couldn't remember if she'd walked or ran, couldn't remember exactly how long it had taken to get here from there.

All the same, she was home, though the place looked as she hadn't inhabited it in weeks. That was partially true. She'd visited often, but usually spent no more than a few hours in it at any one time. It hadn't been a home so much as a layover station. She'd come to think of Fenris's borrowed mansion as "home", and now she realized what a mistake that had been.

She sank into the bed and coughed as the dust came up. The adrenaline from the fight and its aftermath were beginning to wear off; quite unbidden, a sob escaped from her. With it, the floodgates opened.

He'd said it once, and for Fenris, that might has well have been a million times. His words were eloquent enough, but it was his actions that were always most telling of all: _I will keep you safe._ And he had; that safety was something she'd never felt, and from behind the shield that was Fenris, she'd found herself branching out, becoming closer and closer to the person she thought she'd remembered, the girl that died with Marius.

She wept as much for the loss of that girl as she did for the loss of the familiar, the safe. She'd allowed herself to become complacent in his presence. She'd forgotten that underneath an increasingly gentrified exterior, he was still wild and unpredictable. He was still a wolf, just as surely as she was still the cornered fox.

Most of all, though, she'd learned the hard way that no matter what he said or did, at the end of the day, his vengeance had been more important than her safety. He'd betrayed her trust, and she was sure that wherever he was now, he was thinking the very same of her.

She hadn't intended to betray his trust, but somewhere in her heart that night, a voice whispered to her: _She is his sister. She's all he has left, and he will regret taking her life for the rest of his._ Silently she cursed Hawke for refusing to step in, the bastard. Fenris could have slammed him against the wall instead, and the huge man would have been no worse for the wear, armored as he was. Hawke could have fought back; Hawke wasn't defenseless...helpless...

Useless.

If Hawke had stepped in, none of this would have happened. She'd have walked him home, stripped him of his armor, comforted him as he raged or cried or both. He would have made love to her, desperately clung to her, and after he had cooled, she would have talked to him and convinced him that it was all for the best, and that maybe, somewhere, there was still a chance. She would have convinced him, somehow, that Varania was a victim of all this as well as he. Could they have been a family again? Would he have been able to use her to reclaim his past?

She supposed there was no way to know, now. There'd be no convincing on her part. That chance had passed when he'd pinned her against the wall and she'd had to fight to stay conscious. She looked down. There'd been surprisingly little blood, but it had trickled down the neck of her dress and stained it, another piece of clothing ruined by her association with him. She reached for her tiny looking glass; her neck was red all over and starting to purple in spots consistent with his grip.

She allowed herself to get angry, then. Anders had compared him to a wild dog, and in the end, he'd been right. Even if she forgave him, she'd still have the memory of it, the fear that it might happen again. No. He'd proven that alone was what he wanted to be, and she'd gladly grant him his wish. He could walk to the edge of the Void and jump into it, for all she cared. He'd taken her love and in one single act, he'd tossed it far and wide. Even if he could pick up the pieces of it and put it back together, there'd still be little pieces missing, little holes. It'd be like that eldritch mirror of Merrill's: mostly healed, beautiful, but still inoperative. She'd slipped up, but his overreaction had been astounding.

She was angry at Varania, too. There might have been an inkling of understanding at one point, but if she were in Fenris's place, could she have forgiven? Probably not. She certainly wouldn't find it in herself to forgive Gaius or her father for their hands in her fate. Even if could forgive Varania's decision as an act of the truly desperate, she couldn't expect Fenris to do the same, that was for certain.

The sobbing had stopped. The anger did, now, too, and in its place was a numbness the likes of which she hadn't felt in almost a year, when Luka had died in Orlais. Unlike then, though, it was a respite; it allowed her to get up and start tending to her business, to fetch some water and perhaps fix herself a little something to eat. Hunger had settled into the hole the night had made, so she addressed it, moving gingerly all the way, stripping herself of the ruined dress and leaving her soft, sleeveless chemise hanging limply over her shoulders.

Not long after she'd settled into bed with a book, there was a soft knock on her door. She ignored it, but it became more insistent; she got out of the bed and went to answer.

"Listen, I really need to be alone right - Varania." The elven woman couldn't meet her eyes. "What are you...how did you find me?"

"I followed you when you left," she said. It didn't explain the lapse of what was at least two hours before the knock came.

Nonplussed, Althaea opened the door a little wider, but didn't let her in. "Either I was more distraught than I remember, or you're an exceptional sneak."

Varania shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. If she was expecting Althaea to let her in, she was mistaken, for sure. "The ability to serve without being noticed is valued among house slaves." Althaea remembered that the best of Septimus's attendants could seemingly melt into the walls until they were summoned. "I wanted to thank you for saving my life."

Althaea looked at her carefully, this time with a little more leisure. She was his sister, all right; besides the eyes, she shared several things with him: the structure of her cheekbones, chin, a little in the mouth.

How could she? The magister might have given her an offer she couldn't refuse, but if Althaea were in her place, she'd rather refuse and die than accept and live knowing she'd condemned the only family she had left to a life of slavery. Especially knowing he'd been free for...what - almost eight years now?

Maker, if it weren't for this woman, she'd with Fenris right now. It'd be too warm for a fire, but she'd probably be sprawled out on one of the benches in the garden, listening to him practicing his reading, absentmindedly plucking the petals off an unlucky chrysanthemum.

She allowed her eyes to narrow, and Varania quailed in front of her. "Momentary lapse in judgement."

"Please," she said to Althaea. "I have nowhere else to go."

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure," she said. "The alienage is a few hexes south of here, and a number of haberdashers in Hightown can use good tailors. Or, if Kirkwall isn't to your pleasure, there's Starkhaven to the north and Ferelden to the south."

"But I -"

"Of course, for mages south of Tevinter, the Circle of Magi is always the preferred alternative, so I'd avoid attention by the Templars, if I were you."

"Please," she said, again. No. In that moment, she decided what Fenris did to her was forgivable, a thoughtless - if painful - offense. This woman had come to her decision in her right mind, had acted on it. There'd be no absolution here. Althaea didn't have the right to grant it.

"He would have given you everything," she said. She knew that for certain. He'd have lived and died for her. "Please leave me alone."

She closed the door on Varania, then. It was the least she could do.

-o-o-o-o-

The Hanged Man was the last place Althaea wanted to be after last night, but there was only one person who could help her find out what she needed to know, and he lived here. She braced herself and walked as quickly as she could through the tavern and up the stairs to his room.

"Violet," said Varric he opened the door for Althaea. "Fancy seeing you here. You're looking...well." She knew he was eyeing her neck; the bruises had deepened to an angry purple and there were three raw looking lines across the worst part of it.

"Varric," she said, cutting right to the business at hand. She didn't have time to waste - she was expected at the Circle in a little over an hour. "Have you heard anything from your contact in Minrathous?"

"I figured you'd ask that," he said. "But no. Nary a peep."

"Write him again," she said. "Please."

"Well, for starters, my contact is a _she_," he said, letting her into his suite. "What's prompted all this?"

"Maker, Varric, you know everything. Please don't make me explain what happened last night."

"I heard the basics, Violet. It was loud enough. And I can make inferences as well. But what does it have to do with my contact in Minrathous?"

"Danarius said some things last night. I have to know if they're true."

"Oh...that."

"Yes, that! Do you know?"

"Well, the information I had suggested that it wasn't far off, for what little that's worth. I wouldn't be surprised if the bastard hadn't been lying."

Althaea sank into the nearest chair, suddenly feeling very weak. Varric knelt in front of her. "I'm sorry, kid. About everything."

"Not as sorry as I am." She sighed and slumped into the chair, where she sat for a little while before Varric spoke again.

"Listen," he said. "I can write again, and maybe scale things up a bit. If Daddy Dearest is as high up as we think he is, it'd actually be easier for my contact to get someone to have a look for this Cora of yours."

"She's all I have left," she said.

"I know the feeling."

"I appreciate anything you can do." Althaea got up from the chair and made to leave.

Varric interrupted her before she could open the door. "Hey, Violet?"

"Yes?"

"Hang in there, kid. It'll get better."

"I've been doing that for years," she said, making him frown. "It hasn't happened yet."

She was so absentminded in her departure from the Hanged Man that she ran headlong into Fenris, heading in the same direction she'd left. She stared up at him, rooted to the spot. What would he do? Maker, he'd told her to get out and here she was again. She had no right to be here. His eyes softened and her fear faded to a dull roar at the back of her mind. What he'd done was a fluke. He couldn't have known his own strength in that moment, could he have?

"What are you doing?" he asked. His voice was gentle, and it cracked a little at the edges. She felt his gaze light upon her neck, as well, and he made to reach for it, frowning. She took a step back - it hurt too much to have anyone's fingers on it.

"I was hoping what Danarius said last night was a lie, so I asked Varric." She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

He hesitated a moment. "Can we talk?"

"I'm late for work," she said, though she knew Galatea wouldn't take issue with her taking some extra time to show up. "Maybe tonight?"

"All right," he said. Maker, he was hurting as badly as she was, probably even more so now that he'd had the chance to cool down and see the consequences of his actions.

"Meet me here for dinner?"

"Certainly."

"It's a date, then." She couldn't resist the tiniest of smiles, then. Their running into each other hadn't felt as awkward or as frightening as she thought it might. He hadn't tried to finish what he'd started, either, so there was at least that.

For now, though, she had places to be. If she hurried, she could make the next ferry to the Gallows. She walked as briskly as she could through Lowtown to the docks and only just made it in time.

* * *

Rickard was on ferry detail today. _Good to see a friendly face._ He extended a gauntleted hand to help her onto the rocking platform. How long would it be until he noticed her injuries? Everyone seemed to be staring at them, and it now appeared bruises were blooming up and down her arm, as well.

To Althaea's relief, Rick said nothing about the bruises, but instead peered at her as if she had something stuck to a shoe. "Allie," he said carefully, "is everything all right? You reek of blood magic!"

_Oh, Maker, _she thought. _Danarius left his mark. I didn't even think of that. _She tried to remain casual. "Unfortunate run-in with a magister last night. I'm sure one of your team was on clean-up."

"I heard a few mumbles about that. They got on it quickly. Hate to have a magister's revenant roaming around Kirkwall," Rick said. He took a sniff. "Powerful magic. What was it?" They weren't kidding about being able to smell magic, then. Odd.

"A compulsion spell of some sort," she said. "Can you help me wash it off? I'd rather Meredith didn't catch it."

"You and I both," said Rickard. "I've got a meeting with Galatea tonight, and I don't want her hackles up."

"Oh?" she asked, a smile on her face. They'd been nursing a mutual infatuation with each other for a while, but to the best of Althaea's knowledge, they'd never actually made any good on it. "Is this...well, she's never really said anything about it."

"I know, Allie. But you know her, she's a sworn Loyalist and this might be the first time she's ever thought of flouting the Chantry."

"Best of luck to you, Rick," she said. "These are hard times for the best of us...she deserves a bright spot."

"You know," Rick said, "you're the first person who hasn't admonished me off-hand." He took a handkerchief over her the top of her head, and Althaea had a funny feeling, like he'd cracked an egg over it. The feeling dribbled down her front, leaving her feeling...clean. Renewed, even.

"Huh," she muttered, and patted the top of her head as if she might find the source. "What was that?"

"Simple dispelment. We can all do it," Rick said. "Feeling better?"

"Yes," she said. "Like you've sucked poison out of a wound. My thanks, Rick."

"Any time, Allie," he said. "If you ask Galatea, she can help a little with the other things." The ferry was arriving at the Gallows dock. With the dispelment and the distance from the events of the night prior, she was feeling much better. Almost normal, and even more so since Fenris had been cool enough to have a civil conversation with her.

She exited the ferry and as she was about to step away when he called out to her. "Hey, Allie?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," he said. "For your discretion." It was implicit, but then again, Rick never had to ask her for her trust.

She smiled at him. "You're welcome."

* * *

Unfortunately for Fenris, dinner at the Hanged Man had proven quite a bit more awkward than the morning's conversation. Thus far, it had been little more than a dance of stolen glances, aborted attempts at talking, and the uncomfortable feeling of knowing that just a few hours away, a few feet away, something between them had been shattered, perhaps irrevocably.

So, when Althaea abruptly got up and announced, "Let's go for a walk," Fenris was relieved and anxious in equal measure. He thought about offering an elbow, but didn't, remembering the way she had recoiled at his touch earlier in the day. He couldn't resist a bit of a smirk at their reversal of roles; he remembered a time when he'd wince visibly if she got even a bit too near. _How far I've come, and how far I've yet to go._

They walked in silence toward the docks. Fenris would have to speak, then. He was hoping she would, first, but then, he'd been the one to approach her, and it was his mistake to rectify, anyway. "I...I wanted to apologize. I said a lot of things I didn't mean. I couldn't see past my anger."

She was silent for a long while, at least until they reached the pier. It was a quiet night, and the moon was full or close to it; she removed her shoes and dipped her feet in the water of the bay before she finally said, "So much of it was right."

He begged to differ, but said nothing.

After a few long moments, she spoke again. "Varania came to my house last night."

He blinked, though he supposed it made an odd sort of sense; Althaea's stupid, selfless leap to his sister's defense might have given her the idea that the girl was an ally of sorts, perhaps even a friend.

"I turned her away," she said. "I...I thought about it for a long time after I left. If it had been Gaius in the same room, I never could have forgiven him."

More silence, as she trawled her toes through the dark water and watched curious fish come up to them and think better of it. Then, finally: "I'm sorry, Fenris. I shouldn't have interfered." He looked at the exposed skin of her neck; it was mostly healed - likely Galatea's work - but the evidence of his brutality shamed him. He remembered the fear in her eyes and shuddered at the thought that he'd been the one to put it there.

"It is I who should be apologizing," he said. "I can't believe I could have done such a thing."

"Maybe it's both of us."

He nodded. "Maybe you're right."

They sat together, two lost souls in a world that no longer made sense. Hadriana was dead. Danarius was dead, and he was finally free. But without the prospect of sharing it with her, he found that the taste of it had crumbled to ashes on his tongue. _It is the curse of men that we do not cherish what we have until it is lost, _he thought, then remembered it was one of the maxims Althaea had quoted at him, courtesy of her father.

"I'll forgive you if you'll forgive me," she said.

"I can work with that." He got up and extended a hand to her. She took it and slipped her shoes back on for the walk home.

He didn't pause at the fork in the Lowtown road, one going toward the steps, the other to Althaea's hex. Coming to his manse would be too much for her, he knew that much for sure, though it seemed perhaps there was still a chance this could be saved. Apologies given, forgivenesses granted, but it would be a while before any sense of normalcy was restored to them.

They arrived at her door, and he was comforted when she took his hands in hers, a sad little smile on her face.

"I fear I've broken us." _There, I said it._

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "We've been through worse, on our own. But I think I need some time - to figure things out. To decide what I'm going to do next...to see where we fit." She buried her head in his chest, and he took a deep breath, cherishing the touch. _After all, it might be the last I see of her for a while._ "I don't think I was ready for this."

He didn't think he'd been, either. He'd made the truth of that painfully obvious when he'd turned on her like some sort of wild animal.

"I just need some time," she repeated, then stood up on the tips of her toes, kissing him; her lips were soft and tentative, and he resisted the urge to seize her, to kiss her more fully. Instead, he brushed the back of his hand against her cheek.

"Whatever you want, I will give it to you. Even all the time in the world." Tears welled up in her eyes, unshed; but his were rolling down freely.

"Don't cry," she said. "Please."

He couldn't help it. His heart was breaking, even as she allowed him to hold her. She looked up at him, wiped his cheek. "We'll take it one day at a time."

He nodded, and she disappeared into her little home, but not before squeezing his hands one last time.

_I content myself with my friends, and my work, and my love for you._ That was one of the only things he'd remembered hearing her say last night, and he frowned. She'd never uttered the word before then, and in that moment he regretted that the first time she'd said it might well be the last. Mistakes aside, she'd loved him; the only person in his memory to do so. The thought of anyone else's love - his mother's, Varania's perhaps, before she'd turned on him - was nebulous, abstract, and ultimately unimportant.

_I content myself with my love for you._ It had been a defense as well as an indictment.

"I love you," he whispered to the closed door, and wished he could bring himself to say it in a way she could actually hear it. _Not that it will do me any good,_ he thought. _What has been done cannot be undone._ He sighed, left, and turned his steps toward Hightown, and home.

* * *

It was just a week after the Summerday celebrations in Kirkwall when Althaea returned to the Nest after a long day at the Circle. On her doorstep was a small envelope bearing the seal of the dwarven merchants' guild; she felt her heart race as she tore it open and read:

_Found her. - V_

She didn't even bother to step inside, but turned and left straightaway, headed for the Hanged Man. She imagined she looked bedraggled and even a little manic when she interrupted the weekly game of Wicked Grace. Varric grinned and excused himself to his suite.

"Where?" was all she asked, though she needn't even have said that.

"Do you want the good news, or the bad news?"

"I can't have both?" she asked, and he shook his head. "Bad news first, then."

"The bad news is that Danarius wasn't lying, though we should have expected that. The good news is that it made your friend Cora very easy to find."

"Well?"

"Well, I suppose that's another piece of bad news. She's still part of his retinue. Word is that he can't get enough of her soups."

Althaea laughed at that despite herself; Cora's onion soup had been her personal favorite, especially when it was made with fresh cheese. She'd been trying to replicate it for years with little success.

"I can probably get a letter to her," Varric said.

"No good. She can't read, and -"

"And you don't want to blow your cover, I know, though I doubt we're going to be able to buy her out from under him, and I know my contact well enough to know she wouldn't risk incurring the Archon's wrath over the extraction of one slave." He crossed his arms. "If you want her, kid, you're going to have to go get her."

Her heart sank. "You may as well ask me to ride a dragon into the Argent Spire, dropping streamers and yelling 'Here I am, come and get me'!"

"Didn't say it was a good idea, Vi. Just that it was the only one." He patted her gently on the shoulder. "For what it's worth, my contact says that you're welcome to use her place as a base of operations, should you decide you want to give it a try."

Althaea thought about it for a little while. Too much would be at stake, and Maker knew she wasn't brave enough for such an undertaking. She couldn't, not without a significant amount of help. "I don't think I can do it," she said.

"As I hear it, you're one hell of a sneak, and I've seen your brand. They'd never question your presence in the kitchens."

"Did the fact that I look like a miniature version of him _ever_ come to mind?"

"Faces are a silver a dozen in Minrathous, Violet, even ones as similar to the Archon's as yours. If you did something to your hair and stuck to less…striking clothing, yours'd hardly be one to remember. You could even pass as a boy, if you really wanted to."

She sighed. "I don't think I can do it."

"Well, there's nothing I can do to force you into it, but now you know your options. The information's out there."

"I appreciate it, Varric," she said, turning to leave. "I should let you get back to your game."

"Thanks, kid, but I was losing anyway."

* * *

The heat of high summer had just begun to dissipate when Althaea headed to the Circle for a day's worth of work.

They were making good progress, now that the toughest of the passages were translated; she'd been able to teach two quick-studied apprentices the basics of both modern and ancient Tevene, and set them to work with the ciphers she and Galatea had devised. There'd been a little bit of contention on that part; Meredith had finally caught wind of Althaea's origins and had decided that she might be a little more trouble than she was worth. It had taken the assignment of a Templar observer to quell her, thus Rickard had been put to work as well, transcribing the delicate scrolls onto new parchment so they could be handled with less care by the team. He didn't seem to mind; it gave him eight to ten hours a day with Galatea, and they fawned on each other when no one of authority was in the Circle library.

When Rickard didn't show up on the ferry, though, Althaea found herself worrying quite a bit. Rick was like clockwork: always on the eightbell trip, smiling, unarmored, and ready to work. The Templar piloting her this time had nothing to say, and he was an unfamiliar face indeed.

The Circle hall was quiet, lacking all of the bustle she was used to, and a sense of dread creeped up her spine as she padded along the corridors. No, not as quiet as she thought - she heard the clank of armor down one of the halls, as well as hushed talking from some of the mages in their dormitories. She went to the library and tried to stuff the feeling away. Galatea was already hard at work - there was one bit of normalcy, there.

"Sorry I'm late," Althaea said. "Things seemed a little funny on the way here, so I dawdled. Have you seen Rick?"

"No," she said. "Likely sleeping; there was a raid last night." Something was wrong with her voice. It was too flat, and the accent seemed half gone.

"A raid?"

"Yes," Galatea said, and turned around. Althaea sank to the chair. "Is something wrong?"

"Galatea, when..."

"There was a meeting of Resolutionists last night," she said, touching a finger to her forehead, where a red, raw Chantry brand now rested. "I was assumed to be one of them."

"But you're a Loyalist!"

"I was outside the Circle after curfew. It is simply logical that the assumption was made," she said. Her even voice made Althaea shudder; it was nothing like it should be. "I am thankful for the mercy I was shown."

"I'll be right back," Althaea choked out,, though she knew that wouldn't be true. She stormed past the apprentices arriving for the day's work and straight to the First Enchanter's office, not even bothering to knock.

"Explain," she said, closing the door behind her. She couldn't recall the last time she had been so angry. Perhaps that period of time when she'd first come to Kirkwall? She didn't know. What she did know was that Galatea had been a paragon of Chantry loyalty, trysts with Rick excluded; anyone who could believe she'd thrown her lot in with Resolutionists was a dolt.

"Yes, that," Orsino said. "Galatea should be glad she wasn't executed on the spot like the others."

"But the brand, Orsino? You and I both know she was a sworn Loyalist; rebellion was the last thing on her mind!"

"There was nothing I could do, Althaea," he said, and sighed. "She was caught sneaking outside the Gallows after curfew, and without an escort."

"Was there a tribunal?"

"You and I both know that in Meredith's Kirkwall, there is no such thing." He closed his book and approached her. She shrugged him off, incensed.

"Did you even make an appeal on her behalf?"

"Well, I did say a few words -"

"But nothing too strong, I imagine, Maker forbid."

"Meredith is convinced I secretly harbor a coven of blood mages! What was I to do, give her more ammunition? A cell of Resolutionists were having a meeting in Hightown the same night your friend decided to dally with a Templar. It was a case of bad timing, and there was nothing I could do."

"You could have given her the dagger and allowed her to choose." If she were a mage, she'd have chosen the dagger over the brand any time she were asked.

If she were asked.

"Meredith considered her too valuable to lose."

"Meredith, Meredith, everything comes back to Meredith! Where is your sense of accountability, Orsino? You bend before her like a reed in the wind! You're a...a carpet for her to walk upon!"

_You would lie down like some sort of carpet for anyone to take your freedom._ Fenris had said it was something he hadn't truly meant, yet the truth of it struck her even as she spat the words out at someone else. It was unacceptable for her, and even less acceptable for the First Enchanter, who had the responsibility of guarding the livelihood of the mages under him.

_You must abandon your heart, or continue to struggle under the weight of it. Do neither, and you will continue to live a half-life..._Maker. How right he was.

All thought of her father escaped her mind. If she spoke her mind right now, it would be a matter of months before the first of his hunters came to find her. Somehow, suddenly, she was okay with that; she was her adda's daughter all right, and if he still knew anything about her, he knew that she could summon up a resolve and stick to it.

If she did this, she'd have to be long gone before word so much as reached Minrathous. She would do it. She'd do it, she'd steal into Tevinter and fetch Cora, and perhaps by the time she came back, no one would be the wiser - she could live in a different part of Kirkwall, with a different name. Varric was always looking for assistance with his merchant guild dealings; there'd be plenty of work for the asking. She could have a family again, a home. If she caught wind of hunters sniffing around, there was Starkhaven to the north - Seb still had a few friends there - or Denerim to the south.

She'd made it halfway across the continent with naught but the clothes on her back and a stolen bow, as well, though she was half-starved by the time she landed in Kirkwall. If she had done that, she certainly had the strength to fetch one person she loved from the dragon's den. Didn't she?

And what of Fenris? Asking his accompaniment to Minrathous would be little more than an insult, and Maker love him, he was conspicuous as could be, anyway. He had not been made for stealth, but for aggression and intimidation. She was also sure any reports that reached her father's hands would include him as a companion; in recent months she'd made no effort to hide the nature of their relationship, and only her inner circle knew that they were on a break. She couldn't tell him, though, else he might try and talk her out of it, or worse - offer to come with.

Decision made, she narrowed her eyes at the First Enchanter. "You disgust me," she said, and marched her way to Meredith's office. She pushed her way past her Tranquil assistant and slammed her hands down on the Knight-Commander's desk.

"You heinous, self-aggrandizing, tyrannical, murderous bint_._" _Maker, that felt good._ "What makes you think you have the right?"

"It is my Maker-given right to enforce Chantry law on mages who believe the rules do not apply to them," she said, not even looking up from the paperwork she was writing. "This was no different."

"She was a Loyalist!"

"We've seen defection before, time and again."

"Saw it, or created it, Meredith?" Althaea wished this woman would even look at her. "It seems you find blood mages on every corner. Galatea passed her Harrowing! She was a good mage, and an asset to the Chantry!"

Meredith finally looked up, a dangerous calm on her face. "I'd tread carefully if I were you. I've ignored you because you have been granted Chantry succor, but your magocratic biases are not welcome in the south, I guarantee it."

"It is not bias to wish for people to be treated with dignity, Knight-Commander. You go too far."

"'Magic is meant to serve man, not to rule over them'," she quoted. "Transfigurations One."

_You want to quote the Chant at me? Fine. _"And the very next line: 'Foul and corrupt are you who have taken My gift and used it against My children'. We are all children of the Maker, and I swear to you that Andraste would never have stood for this."

"Do not compare yourself to Andraste!" She finally stood, and the commotion had attracted the attention of Meredith's Templar guards.

"I did nothing of the sort!"

Meredith eyed her two guards and they approached Althaea. "You go too far," she said, then to the guards: "Get her out of my sight."

She shrugged off their advance - neither was a Templar she remembered. "Don't bother," she spat, and shoved her way past them. "I was just leaving."

* * *

For once, Fenris and Anders spoke in unison. "She did _what?_"

"You heard me," said Sebastian. "She laid into Elthina like a sledgehammer. I've never seen the likes of it from her before, and word is before that she tore into the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander both."

Anders gave a low whistle. Fenris simply sat, wide eyed and silent.

They were seated in a corner table at the Hanged Man, Hawke included. Varric twiddled his thumbs and kept his mouth shut. He hadn't heard the whole story, but Violet's sudden growth of a spine made all the more sense now; she'd gone to him earlier in the afternoon and had decided to move on the intelligence he'd gathered on that elf of hers. She'd handed him a good portion of her gold and with it, he was to close out her old apartment and put everything into storage, as well as forge travel documents for her or find some way to make her passage as discreet as possible.

All this, _and_ she'd sworn him to secrecy as far as Fenris was concerned. Likely she didn't want him chasing after her and mucking everything up, but it still seemed a little low. "I'll send him a letter once I'm well shut of Kirkwall," she'd said. "He can write me once I'm there."

"It wasn't entirely undeserved," Sebastian said, shaking his head sadly. "That Circle mage she was working with, they made her Tranquil. Had to do with that Resolutionist meeting you broke up last night, Hawke, only Galatea would never have had anything to do with them."

"I don't recall seeing her there," Hawke said.

"No," Sebastian said, "but she was sneaking off to see her Templar lover and Meredith assumed the worst. And what's worse, they can't find him, either, though I don't think Althaea knows that yet."

Hawke held Anders's hand, the better to keep Justice quiet. "Sounds like things are going straight to the Void for her. So, what happens now?"

"I'm not a betting man, but I'd wager she has until Firstfall to get her affairs in order, and that's if news travels slowly. She's going to have to go under, leave town, or start expecting hunters at every turn."

"Nonsense," said Fenris. "She has my sword, and she knows it." _She knows it, _Varric thought, _but where she's going, your sword can't follow. You're entirely too visible, my tattooed friend._

"And mine," said Hawke. "I owe her a few."

Anders shrugged. "Anyone who has the stones to give Meredith a tongue-lashing is a friend of mine."

"That's settled then," Sebastian said. "We keep an eye on her until she figures out what she wants to do."

They clinked their mugs together, and Varric shrugged. After all, it was the thought that counted.

* * *

Fenris returned home after his night out to find that his door was unlocked. _Odd. _He was always careful to lock it, though there was little of real value left in the mansion; it had been fixed up nicely on the outside, but there was nothing worth having inside.

He unsheathed his sword and began to check for other signs of intrusion. Danarius may be dead, but one could never be too careful; after all, an slaver might still try and drag him back to a rival for a bounty.

There was nothing in the lower levels or in the study, and Fenris dismissed the whole thing as a figment of overactive paranoia until he caught a scent on the air: powdery, floral, and familiar, though it hadn't had a place here in months. Sword still at the ready, he followed it as best he could; its sillage was strongest in the corridor near the garden.

The figure in the garden was making no attempt to conceal itself, but Fenris could only see whoever-it-was silhouetted by lamplight. But the scent...

He took a few quiet steps forward.

"The sevenbells are beautiful tonight," the figure said. There was only one person he couldn't outsneak when he was ghosting, so he lowered his guard. _Althaea. _He crossed the length of the garden, and she patted the stone bench next to her.

He sat down. It'd been nearly three months since he'd seen her in anything but a passing glance. She was looking as lovely as he'd ever found her, but tension and sadness marred her face; it surprised him little, given the events of the day.

"I'm sorry to come in unannounced," she said, "but I seem to have lost access to the bell tower."

"You're never unwelcome here," he said, and then let out a low chuckle. "Though perhaps next time you pick the lock on my front door, you'll secure it behind you."

"I knew I was forgetting something."

"You can have a key, if you like."

"I may take you up on that." She sighed. He noticed then, that she had a dagger in her hand, the plain-handled one that she considered his first gift to her. After all this, was she seriously considering using that on herself? No, not likely. She'd come a long way since Orlais, and he wouldn't believe it.

"I heard about what happened this morning," Fenris said. "What's gotten into you?"

"You did," she said. "Well, not you exactly, but I've been thinking a lot about some of the things you said to me, about living a half-life, about being spineless-"

"I never called you that."

"No? Hmm. Maybe it's just something I called myself, then." She twiddled with the dagger in her hand. "Do you remember giving me this?"

"Of course," he said, taking it gently from her. "I told you to put it on, and never to take it off."

"And I never have." She smiled at him, but it disappeared. "I had another run-in with Meredith this evening."

"What happened?"

"I got a note from Rickard. It didn't seem right, so I rushed to the Chantry. He hung himself, Fenris. They made him give her the brand, and he hung himself. I just..." she tilted her head skyward. "I can't imagine that He would make a world in which people would rather die than be in it."

That was a far cry than what she would have said, a year or more ago, though he supposed suicide in the face of certain torture was likely a little different than the same over the death of a lover. And that was what Galatea was, now - dead, emotionless and logical by dint of her disconnection from the Fade. _Only the dead feel nothing._ He put his hand over hers. The touch was almost too much to bear, after this long away from her, but he held on as best he could, and she smiled a little.

_I think if the Maker exists, he cares little for the lives of men,_ he thought, but that opinion wouldn't help her. "Sebastian once told me that we make our own choices, for good or ill, and that they are our own doing, not His. We're all mortal, Althaea. There is but little we can do; no one of us can save the world, and we are deluded if we try."

"Did I do enough?"

"You flouted the Chantry in the face of blackmail, rather than continue to struggle under the weight of your convictions. It's..." he searched for the words in the lantern light, caught a bit of her scent wafting toward him on the night breeze, and moved on. "It's the bravest thing I think you've ever done, and I think perhaps the only thing you could have done. Rickard made his own choices."

She was silent for a long time, considering what he'd said. "Anders would have me join the mage underground."

"Yes, well, Anders is a sanctimonious, if well-meaning, idiot. There are enough Resolutionists among the mage underground to give anyone cause for concern."

"I couldn't throw my lot in with anyone who prefers to pay for their freedom with blood," she said. "So many of them have turned to it, it seems. It's not right."

"Well, there you have it." He clapped a hand against his thigh to drive home the point. "One day you may see a better path, and at that moment, you can take it. Until then, I believe your disassociation with the Chantry is good enough."

They were quiet a while longer; the lantern burning low and nowhere near as bright as the silvered moon shining down into the courtyard. She took the dagger from his hands, a resolute expression on her face; before Fenris could move, she brought it up to her head and lopped off her thick black braid.

He let loose a string of Arcanum, mostly surprised expletives. She stared at the braid as it dropped to the ground with a soft _thud_.

"What was _that_ for?" he asked, still taken completely by surprise.

"I guess I was just ready for a change," she said. "Will you help me with the rest?" Fenris supposed he didn't have a choice; he helped her until the remains were reduced to a close-clipped mop.

She looked different now; a harder cut to complement her hardened resolve. He wondered if he was witnessing the rebirth of the Althaea she always thought had been lost, or if she was simply faking for her own sake, and then he figured he'd never rightly know.

"What will you do, now?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, and surprisingly, she seemed okay with that. "I figure it will be about a month before Orlais catches wind of my resignation, then another month before the news makes its way to Minrathous." She sheathed the dagger after wiping it clean on her dress. "I probably have until winter before the first of my father's hunters arrive to collect me."

The way she said it, the fatalistic acceptance of it, killed him. "You will have my sword, when they come," he said. Perhaps the offer would help her feel more at peace with her choice.

"Still?" She seemed surprised, but pleased.

"Always -" he knelt in front of her and cupped her cheek - "I swear it. I am yours," he said, though what he meant was _I love you_ and she seemed to understand that. So why was she crying?

Then, she surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him with an intensity he'd never seen out of her, one he'd usually only associated with himself. Faced with the absurdity of their role reversal, he laughed against her mouth, and she joined in, still trying to kiss him and failing miserably. He pressed the advantage.

He made love to her in the garden, and halfway up the stairs, and once more in his bed which had been half-empty for entirely too long. There was almost as much laughter as there were tears, of relief or joy or sadness, he couldn't tell. But she was here! Here in his arms, and he in hers.

For several weeks, all was right with the world; but one afternoon he woke alone. Confused, he peeked his head out of the bedcurtain to find her yellow scarf, soaked in her scent.

The scarf, her Satinalia gift, was coiled underneath an envelope with his name on it.

* * *

**PS: **Oh, man, Althaea is a jerk and I hope you guys don't kill me for it.

**PPS: **Unofficial soundtrack to this chapter is: "Will The Circle Be Unbroken", original by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, cover by Bioshock Infinite VOA cast; "Demons" by Imagine Dragons; "So Close" by Jon McLaughlin; "Madness" by Muse.

**PPPS: **seriously guys, please don't kill me. Or if you feel totally compelled...write a review to do it!

**PPPPS: **HOLY CRAP 100,000 WORDS


	19. Quicksilver and Gold

**CHAPTER NINETEEN - QUICKSILVER AND GOLD**

Fenris stared down at the letter one more time; he knew that a third or fourth read wouldn't be any different, but a small part of him still hoped that this was all someone's idea of a sick joke.

_Dear Fenris,_

_The past few weeks have been like something out of a dream, but that's exactly it - we were living a dream. It breaks my heart to do this with no more explanation than a letter, and I must have tried a hundred times to broach the subject, but I couldn't gather the strength to tell you what I have to do. I might never have left, and things might never have changed, for better or for worse._

_I have something important to do, and where I am going, you cannot follow. I wish it was something I could delay, but recent events have made the necessity of my task even greater. I hope you can understand, or if you don't, I hope you can at least forgive my trespass against you. I promise you this; I will come back. And if you still want me when I do, we can make a home together, and this time it won't be a fantasy. This I solemnly swear: on the Maker's name, on the blood of Andraste, on the ashes of my former life; any or all, if they will make you believe me._

_I love you with everything I am, and the Maker smiled on me the day I met you. But I owe my task to Marius - and to myself - and I will never be free to love you as you deserve until it is complete._

_If you so desire, I am forever yours,  
__Althaea_

He put the letter down and resisted the urge to rip it to shreds for kindling. Despite its cryptic nature, he knew exactly the task to which Althaea referred; she must have received word of Cora's whereabouts and was bound to retrieve her. But where?

_Likely Tevinter, if I had only one guess. And with Aloysius as the Archon, directly in the middle of the dragon's den._ He shook his head and balled up his fist in frustration - the thought of Althaea wandering into the Imperium alone was more than he could handle. She was sure to be killed! Why hadn't she asked for his help? Maker, he would have crossed from one end of Thedas to the other if she'd asked it, but she hadn't.

He got up from the bed and paced in front of the hearth for a time, trying to piece together his thoughts. He'd have to go to Varric, first; the dwarf would have been the one to give her the news, and if her activities in the last few days were any indication, he was likely also the means by which she'd secured her passage.

He got dressed, not bothering to don his armor, and headed to the Hanged Man. When he arrived, he found it was doing a brisk trade, a combination of a good day at market and a new tunnel opening at the mine just outside of town. He found Varric in his suite, keeping his books.

"Thought I'd be seeing you, elf. Have a seat?"

"No, thank you."

"Suit yourself," the dwarf said, and closed the book he was working in. "What brings you to visit? The obvious?"

"Yes, the obvious. Tell me everything you know."

"I'm afraid I can't, friend. She swore me to secrecy, and I keep my secrets."

"Varric. You and I both know that if she's heading to Tevinter, she's sure to be torn to pieces. She'd last all of a day, and that if she was lucky!"

Varric crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "You give her too little credit, elf. Have you forgotten that she managed to cross the whole of Tevinter on foot? Without a coin to her name, too. Which reminds me, I should make her tell me that story; it'd make a great adventure serial."

"That was years ago," Fenris said.

"And your point is...what? Listen, elf. Just because she's got you doesn't mean she's entirely helpless, and as I already said, she's far more competent than you give her credit for." He twiddled with his quill. "In fact, I'd hazard to say that she's got a defter tongue than any of us ever guessed - ever since she started working for me, I've had fewer issues with guild negotiations than usual."

Varric got up and gently showed Fenris to the door. "Don't worry about her," he said.

"Easy for you to say, I-"

"Look. You can choose not to believe it, but our Violet is resourceful and stealthy both. The best thing you can do for her is whatever she asked you to do."

"I can't accept that."

"Well then, O Seeker of Truths - you'd better get working on finding a clue, because my lips are sealed." He closed the door.

Fenris stood at the threshold for a few seconds and wondered what to do next. Much he was sure Varric wanted him to, there was no way he could allow her to go it alone; no, he'd have to figure out where she was going and head her off at the pass, at the very least offer his assistance. A sharp _psst_ erupted a couple of doors down, interrupting his thoughts.

"Fenris." It was Isabela, who'd popped her head out of her door and waved her hand at him in a 'come here'. He did so.

"I heard everything."

"Everything?" He had a seat at the table in her little room.

"Yep, everything. And the stuff before that, too," she said, and tilted her head in a proud smirk. "Your girlfriend went to Minrathous, but the long way." She shoved a bottle of brandy to Fenris, but he refused a pull.

"I'm listening."

"Well, you know how she's been working for Varric?"

"Yes...?"

"Well, he has a contact there. Didn't catch her name, but she deals in silks. The perfect cover presented itself not too long ago, a huge deal Varric didn't have time to address himself - she left on the ship _Tournesol_ this morning." She took on a singsong tone: "I've got the itinerary..."

"Well, can I have it?"

"I'll tell you everything I know, and I'll trade it for a favor."

Fenris was growing impatient. With every hour that went by, Althaea was farther and farther out of his reach. "_Venhedis_, woman. I don't have time to jump around your hoops! Just tell me what you want for it."

"You can't guess?" She leaned across the table toward him, showcasing her ample cleavage with a smirk.

Fenris rolled his eyes. "Absolutely not."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive." He got up and made to leave, but Isabela stopped him with a huff.

"It was worth a try," she said. "Sit back down."

Fenris did, a little more cautiously this time, and Isabela flashed him a wide, proud grin. "The _Tournesol _is a trade galleon - very big and very, _very_ slow. It has a stop in Llomerryn - likely for a refitting, since she didn't do so here - so that means you've got about three weeks to get yourself there, maybe even four. If you booked yourself on a clipper or a little cruiser, you'd definitely make it there in time."

"And do you know of any ships that fit that bill?"

"It just so happens I do, if you're not too picky about the company you keep. A loose acquaintance of mine in the Armada is headed in that direction in the next couple of days. I can probably get her to take you on as a hired sword, if you don't object to the occasional random act of piracy on the way."

Fenris thought about the offer - it seemed too good to be true. "And you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart?"

She cleaned imaginary dirt out of her fingernails and refused to meet his eyes. "I'm doing this because you've saved my ass on the field more than once, and I owe you for it."

"We work together. That's just implicit."

"An attitude like that will get you far on any ship, believe you me." Isabela finally looked up at him with expectant eyes. "What do you say?"

_Llomerryn. _He'd never been there, but he'd heard its reputation as the informal headquarters of the Felicisma Armada, as well as a den of iniquity. Suddenly, he was glad he'd made the decision to hunt Althaea down, no matter the cost; Minrathous would be a known quantity for her, but he doubted she was ruthless enough to navigate a pirate island without a problem.

_She's far more competent than you give her credit for_. Yes, and even though she might be, he would never forgive himself if she was injured or killed while fulfilling her self-imposed mission. She'd been there for him; whether she liked it or not, he'd be there for her. If he could find her in time, and if not, he'd just have to beat the name of Varric's contact out of him.

"All right," he said. "I'll bite."

"Lovely," Isabela said, then got up. "Let's take a trip to the docks."

The walk was blessedly fast, and before long they arrived at one of the dock slips, where an unassuming cruiser sat high in the water. It looked rather familiar. _Likely I've seen it here before._ Isabela strode aboard, clearly welcome. "Meet the _Quicksilver_," she said to Fenris as she did so. "Beautiful little cruiser, innit?"

Fenris nodded. Yes, the ship definitely looked like one he'd seen before. But where?

"Afternoon!" she called to one of the crew, who raised his hand in greeting and strode over.

"Isabela, a pleasure as always," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for Ianyx, is she aboard? I have some business with her."

"Aye," he said, then looked at Fenris. "Who's your friend?"

Isabela looked a mite uncomfortable while she was searching for the words. "Ah, he would be the business."

"Fair enough. I'll be right back."

He stood uncomfortably on the deck of the ship, wondering just what was in store for him. Isabela rocked from front to back, whistling a cheery tune, and when Ianyx arrived above decks, Fenris's hair stood on end. _Kaffas._

"You!" hissed Ianyx from her safe distance. Fenris held up his hands, and though she made to reach for her dirks, she stopped at his gesture.

"I see you've met," Isabela said with mild interest.

"You could say that," Fenris said. "She's the reason it took us almost three weeks to get home."

"Collateral damage," Ianyx replied, placing one of her slender hands on an indignant hip. "You cost me a perfectly good dinghy."

"We paid you well for that ragged piece of flotsam, and because of it we couldn't afford passage to Kirkwall any other way."

Isabela watched the exchange, eyes darting from party to party, clearly hoping it wouldn't come to blows. Ianyx grinned at Fenris, then, but it wasn't a comforting smile, more a slow exposition of teeth than anything else. "I saw the way you looked at her, boy. Couple of weeks on the road with her might have done you both a bit of good."

Fenris said nothing, but continued with the stoniest face he could display. Ianyx laughed and smiled knowingly, then. It was quite a bit warmer than the previous smile. "Mayhaps it did!"

"I don't kiss and tell."

Isabela rolled her eyes. "It did, which is why we're here. Oh, get over yourself," she said, as Fenris stared at her, knitting his brows at her little bit of treachery. "Ianyx here is a fan of a good love story. You should tell her one."

When he didn't elaborate, Isabela heaved a sigh for the ages. "The girl you met, she's headed to Llomerryn. Kind of a long story, but Loverboy here needs to make it there before she does. I knew you were in port, and the _Quicksilver _is plenty fast, and Fenris here is a great sword hand. I thought you could use him for the trip."

Ianyx regarded Fenris with an incredulous eyebrow. "You still light up like a Satinalia tree on Summerday?"

"Only when people make me angry."

"Sword still good as ever?"

"I'd only be too happy to demonstrate, if you like."

Ianyx laughed again, in a display of good humor he hadn't seen in the elf on their trip when the ship had still been called _Lifestyle._ "No need for that." She addressed Isabela: "He the kind with overly upstanding values?"

"Just in regards to the flesh trades."

Ianyx frowned. "Hm, no, I don't deal in slaves. Too risky, too depressing. All right. If you're not opposed to a few raids between here and the Isle, I'm leaving tomorrow and I can get you there in a couple of weeks."

"And the cost?" Fenris asked. He was dearly hoping it wouldn't be too high; he would need all the gold he could get once he crossed into Llomerryn.

"Cost? I don't take passengers, only cargo and crew. No cost but your sword, and if it's good enough I could be convinced to part with a small trinket or two." She held out her hand. "It depends on what we find."

He took it and she shook, a firm gesture that was accompanied by a pert nod. "All right then, my friend. You may refer to me as Captain. We set sail tomorrow at noon; call time is no later than ten bells."

Fenris stood at attention and nodded. "Yes, Captain."

"Just so," she laughed. "At ease for now. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

**Postscript: **Yay for Fenris POV! I thought I might grace you with a small chapter, since I'm still not sure how much I plan to elaborate on Fenris and Althaea's respective journeys. They may wind up in spin-offs later, so unless you folks absolutely want to hear ANOTHER sea trip, we'll next hear from our friends on the island of Llomerryn. Speak now or hold your peace!


	20. The Laughing Dragon

**A/N: **Doc Manager is giving me all sorts of issues with the horizontal lines, so i'm going to denote scene changes with my own dealie.

**CHAPTER TWENTY - THE LAUGHING DRAGON**

The bustling port city of Llomerryn was almost too much to handle, but Althaea took her leave of the _Tournesol_ as soon as she was granted permission to be abovedecks. There was nothing she wanted more right now than fresh air, and the passage had been everything but; even traveling as a delegate of the merchants' guild, she had been stuffed in a cabin in the passenger hold of the hulking trade galleon without so much as a porthole.

All the same, that part of her journey was over now, and she would have a full week in Llomerryn before she would have to take ship again. Her final destination was the second-to-last place she ever wanted to be, and the very last place Aloysius or any of his ilk might expect her to show her face. She was counting on that, more than anything else. If she could get to Cora before news of her reached Minrathous, she might have a chance, and her name had become a mantra to still Althaea's terrified heart.

_Amelia_, she reminded herself._ I can't forget, as long as I work for Varric, in all my dealings for him, I'm Amelia. It's growing on me. _The captain of the _Tournesol_ had offered her the use of her cabin for the week, but she found she couldn't bear the thought of being cooped up any further, so she'd politely refused and asked after suitable accommodation. She was traveling on Varric's silver, after all; if the deal she'd be making with his Minrathous contact was sealed, she'd be returning with a ship full of priceless silks, and a few silvers spent on a decent bed would go unnoticed.

If the deal she'd be making with others was sealed, she'd also be returning with one priceless former slave.

The captain had referred her to one of the nicer areas of the island, to the an inn and tavern called The Sailor's Rest. She made her way through the docks, keeping her purse close; her vigilance was rewarded when a second-rate pickpocket attempted to liberate it. He'd been a young elf, perhaps eight or nine at best, and even as she seized his hand and tossed it aside, she was reminded of Fenris. The boy could have been a young version of him, dusky-skinned and green-eyed as he was, with a mop of thick black hair that hung over his face. Maker. If this was her first welcome to the island, she wondered what else it would have in store for her.

She arrived at the inn and secured a room, one that was nice but not so nice that she'd be viewed as a potential target for thieves. She took her meal upstairs and had a bath, and in that time she found her thoughts turning toward Fenris; often, and unbidden.

In those moments she wished she hadn't been so stupid, hadn't left him behind. Even if she couldn't use his sword on this trip - he was far too conspicuous for Minrathous, but would have been welcome for the week in Llomerryn - she could have used him for moral support. He might have eased the fear that threatened to eat her alive.

"Fear is a little death," he'd told her, in the days after she'd separated from the Chantry, when she found herself quivering with the thought of what might soon come. "You must learn to let it wash over you."

"You never fear," she'd said in response. "I wish I could be as brave as you."

"Nonsense. I fear a great many things."

"Like what?"

He'd gathered her up in his arms, humming as he thought. "I fear...spiders. And bereskarn."

"Spiders?" she'd asked in surprise.

"Yes, absolutely I fear spiders. I don't think you've ever seen anything quite like some of the ones I've seen."

"Just spiders, then? That doesn't seem like a 'great many things'."

He'd been silent for a while, then, likely wondering whether he wanted the conversation to go the way it would if he continued. "I fear becoming a slave again."

"But Danarius is dead."

"Can I not still fear it? Some enterprising slaver might catch me off my guard and try and sell me to one of his rivals." His eyes had been wide and dark, vulnerable the likes of which she hadn't seen in ages; the last time he'd opened up to her like this had been in Orlais.

He was quiet a little longer. "I fear bigger things, too. I fear for the future of Thedas, for example. I fear...losing you."

"You fear losing...me?"

"Almost more than anything else, these days, yes."

In that moment she'd wanted to tell him _I'm not going anywhere_, but that would have been a falsehood, and one she never could have lived with. But the sound of his voice - especially the stark need for affirmation behind it - had broken her heart just a little more, and she'd cuddled close to him instead of breathing a promise she couldn't keep.

"How do you do it?" she'd asked. _How are you so brave?_

"Like I said before, you let it wash over you, through you. Acknowledge it but give it no place in your head. That is the path to true bravery, and believe me when I say you've made a good start."

She fell asleep not long after that and was plagued by the nightmares she'd been having since she'd left Kirkwall, only this time there was no Fade version of Fenris to chase them away, and she knew she only had herself to blame.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When Althaea woke the next morning, she was pleased to find that a tray had been set in front of the door, a little slip under the gap evidence of its presence. She broke her fast and took another long, leisurely bath, and sat in the large windowsill of her room, taking in the view.

Llomerryn still hadn't quite woken up yet, and was a far cry from Kirkwall in its construction. Where Kirkwall was order, stone, and chain, Llomerryn was chaos, wood, and leather; the market was twice as large and there were places where a weary traveler could avail themselves of the necessities of home away from home. In fact, it seemed that many of those aligned with the Felicisima Armada did call this home, regardless of their countries of origin.

Though it was autumn and she knew Kirkwall would be showing the first signs of the oncoming cold, Llomerryn was far enough north to remain mostly untouched by the slow turn of the season. She basked in the heat of it, and shuddered at the possibility of having to overwinter in Minrathous.

She wished she'd been able to bring her journal with her, but its contents had far too much potential for trouble and she'd had to leave it behind. She sat and thought about what she might write about the place if she'd had the opportunity to do so, but couldn't come up with much, just from silent observation out a window. She decided to go for a walk through the city. _I'm here, I might as well try and enjoy myself._ She clothed herself in the most unassuming dress she had, tucked her coin purse into her bodice, and headed out, careful to wear her dagger and hide the golden coin hanging from her neck.

She was unmolested through most of her wanderings, most likely because she had been careful to avoid the rougher areas of the port city. Among the various storefronts she found a few things she wouldn't mind having, or having a: parchment and quill, a map of the city, and a few, slightly more illicit things she'd had a tough time finding in Kirkwall. The flashbangs would be especially handy, so she'd bought plenty of them and tucked them into her belt pockets, just in case; while she couldn't get magebane outright, she made a contact that could help her. _Magebane. Maker, I hope I don't wind up needing it._

Before long her sense of hunger overpowered her curiosity and she ventured off in search of food. The smell of something rich drew her into a small tavern called The Rose and Thorn, where she sat down to a delicious shepherd's pie and some sort of bitter wheaten ale. As she ate, she thought briefly of spending some time on correspondence, but thought better of it; such things were likely best left to the privacy of her room.

As she departed, she took note of a hunched old woman watching her from the opposite end of the street. She gave the woman a wide berth and headed back in the direction she assumed was the way back to the Sailor's Rest. A few minutes later, it seemed as if she'd walked in a circle; the very same woman was standing in front of a familiar-looking door, a blithe smile pasted across her wrinkled face. The woman beckoned Althaea, and against her better judgement she made her way over.

"You're lost, _hita. _Come, I show you the way." Her accent was heavy, but nothing like she'd heard from Antivans or Nevarrans speaking the common tongue._ Rivaini, then, most likely._ They were the majority population of Llomerryn, but she'd never encountered many before now; Rivain was always considered a bit too receptive to the Qun for Tevinter sentiment. The old woman took her by the hand, and led her inside a small stone rowhouse.

The main room was covered in bolts of silk, and a tiny shrine to some unknown god rested in a corner. The woman sat Althaea down at a table. "Tea?"

"No, thank you," she said, and then caught herself. "I'm sorry, Messere? What does this have to do with helping me find my way home?"

The woman paused for a second, and flashed a little smile. "Lost not always mean you're needing map, yes?"

Althaea could only blink. There was nothing she could say to that, really. "Thank you for the hospitality, but it's getting dark and I really ought to get back to my inn."

"You make it just fine no matter when you leave," she said. "Sit, have tea, tell me your name. You have many names, yes? Amalthaea, Althaea...Amelia now?"

She nodded mutely. The woman soldiered on.

"Amelia now, Amara later. Also sometimes Squirrel, sometimes Fox. No, _now_ Fox. A name to go with your face, I think, yes."

_My assumed surname, _Althaea thought as she watched the crone hang a kettle over the fire. "Never Bear, though, hmm," she said. "And certainly no Badger even though you claim it."

"How do you know this?" she asked, not sure if she should be interested or terrified. Half of what she was saying made no sense. The Bear was her father's sigil, the badger her mother's. Phoebus and Merry had called her Squirrel, and some of Septimus's slaves had teased her and called her Foxface...but how did she know all of this...or any of it?

The crone laughed, a low chuckle that somehow conveyed more amusement than the subtlety of it should have. "I am Seer," she said, as though it should be obvious. "That's what I do."

She left Althaea to mull over that a bit, poured hot water over rose hips and honey, and handed the cup to her. "Don't worry, no poison in there. Now tell me, _hita_ - elf lady, what she tell you?"

"Elf lady?"

The woman wiggled her hand and tried to find the words. "Chief of many. Dalish maybe?"

_The Keeper, _Althaea thought. _Amazing. _"She said...I had many names, and would have many more."

"I know that, but after that. I not hear it well."

_It will make sense to you when it's meant to. _Could Marethari have meant this moment? "She said I'd wear two faces."

A victorious smile spread across the crone's face. "Ha, I thought so! That's why you come to me."

"For another face?"

"Another face, yes." She reached across the table and grabbed for Althaea's neck; she started to jump back defensively when she realized the woman was reaching not for her neck, but for the golden drakon hanging from it on a leather thong. "I borrow," she said, and Althaea took it off and handed it to the woman.

She bit into the coin and smiled. "Is real gold. Good. Never can tell with Tevinters these days. Give me your hand."

Althaea cocked an eyebrow and obeyed; the woman had been odd, for sure, but didn't strike her as dangerous. She'd heard that Rivaini seers sometimes read fortunes on palms, though whether or not that was actually true, she wasn't sure.

Then, with preternatural speed, the woman took a dagger and sliced open Althaea's palm, causing her to yelp and take off in a stream of expletives from every language she knew. She tried to yank her hand away, but the crone's grip brooked no argument; she squeezed the drippings into a small bowl, then healed the gash.

"My charm not work without blood," she explained. "Only yours, or I do myself. Apologies, _hita._"

_Blood magic! _"No, absolutely not, I refuse this whatever it is you're doing." She made to leave, but the crone pinned her with her gaze, and she sat again, sure she was looking rather like she'd faint any minute.

"Ah! Now I see what they mean when they say Foxface," she said. "Still not very nice. _Hita, _I explain something about blood magic. This...this is not same. Blood as lyrium - no good. Evil thing. Bad magic. Blood is far more powerful than that. When used for power, is wasted, perverted. Blood is bond." As she spoke, she added some herbs and what looked like quicklime to the contents of the bowl.

"Bond?" She was having trouble understanding the crone's broken Common, but thought she had the general idea. Some magics she'd read about in her father's library mentioned using personal objects as an anchor of sorts. What could be more personal than said person's blood? It made a gruesome sort of sense, and was nothing like what had happened to Marius. It might not make it any more acceptable, but it didn't seem inherently evil as the blood sacrifice had been.

Still wary but less terrified, Althaea watched as the crone dipped the drakon into the bowl and said a few quiet words over it before answering. "Yes. Blood bonds. You, your father, your mother. Your brother. Bound by blood. Is powerful magic. You get half your blood from mother, half from father. They mix, make you. Medallion makes your other half show. In face, hair, voice sometimes."

"A glamour!" She was familiar with those from her readings, and most of the apprentices at the Kirkwall circle were capable of producing one.

"No, not glamour," she corrected. "Glamour is just a cover, easy to see past with wise eyes. This is actual change, but not forever. What's the word...?"

"Temporary?"

"Yes, temporary. Only works when you wear the charm. Take it off? Poof. You're you again." She took the drakon out of the bowl, rinsed it off, and handed it to Althaea. "Try it."

She put the coin back on. It was cold to the touch, and when she closed the clasp she felt a subtle _shift_, as if her face was suddenly something mutable. The sensation faded, and with a satisfied look, the seer handed her a looking glass.

Althaea knew she was looking at herself, but couldn't reconcile the face in the mirror with the one she knew she had. A pair of bright blue eyes stared back at her, the dense freckles had gone, and her skin had shifted a shade or two; not lighter or darker, just...different. Even the shape of her face had changed; her high-cheeked oval had gone round, and she poked at a dainty little chin. She felt her hair, then angled the mirror up; the short black thatch had turned curly and red.

Yet this woman staring at her was nothing like her mother, who'd been a severe beauty, all golden hair and hazel eyes. She racked her brain, trying to remember a cousin or aunt who looked like this, but couldn't think of one.

"I don't look like my mother," she said, then clapped her mouth shut. Maker, even her voice was not her own! The seer laughed and patted her on the shoulder.

"You look plenty like, way I see it." _Bizarre._ "Now you pay me. Give back the medallion, please." Althaea took it off, feeling the funny shift again; she felt like herself, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be the not-her again any time soon.

She was too lost in her musing to notice that the crone had taken a cleaver to the medallion; she severed it easily in half. She gasped.

"What are you doing? That was a _gift_!" Oh, Maker - what would Fenris say if he caught her wearing half a drakon around her neck? Then she realized that if she ever wore it again, he wouldn't even know her face. What would she tell him, exactly? A bent-backed old mage put a blood charm on it? Yes, and at that point she was sure that the fact only half of it remained would be the least of her worries.

"Half for me," the old woman said, slipping her half into her coin purse and handing the severed half back. "Don't worry; I save. This is very special thing. You might need later!" She ushered Althaea out the door, tea unfinished and with no direction as to how to get back to her inn. "Now go, and be another face, _hita_. You have second chance; be wise with it. "

Utterly bemused, Althaea wandered the streets unharmed, and made it back to her inn without so much as one wrong turn.

-o-o-o-o-

Fenris was in the dungeon of Danarius's estate, stripped naked and lashed to the rack by means of his master's favorite ropes, and breathing heavily after having been whipped. He could phase through them, if he wanted, but what would be the point? There would be no escape, and doing so would only encourage the magister to dial up the pain.

He wasn't sure what he had done to merit today's punishment. Perhaps he had missed one of the group he'd been instructed to kill, perhaps one of them had landed a blow on his master. Perhaps Danarius was simply in the mood for a good beating, something to remind Fenris of his place. Perhaps it was the preface to a another long night in the magister's bed, as the magister's toy. He could never know, could never ask. All he could do was endure and know that there was really no such thing as hope, and that at the end of it all, the only relief in sight was death.

As he hung from the rack in shame and humiliation, he caught a scent in the air. It didn't belong - the dungeon here always smelled of stone and blood and sweat. But this! This was sweet and somehow familiar. _I know this scent._

The room was completely dark, but he heard a voice inches away from his ear: female, low, and compassionate. "This isn't real."

"Who are you?" he asked. His voice was a raw whisper; he'd been deprived of water for almost a day, and he tried to light himself to see, but couldn't. He didn't have enough strength to do so.

"You know me, love," said the voice. "Let me help." Recognition bloomed in his head and the illusion of the dungeon slipped away, replaced by the study of his manse. His skin was still raw and flayed, but the room was dry and warm, and he relaxed. She handed him a pitcher of water, and he drank deeply of it.

"Why do you dream of this?" she asked, bringing a gentle hand against the worst of the lashes; the skin knitted itself back together. "Why do you torture yourself so?"

"I didn't," he said, then got up. The dream Althaea looked up at him, a cryptic smile on her face. "I didn't choose this..."

"We hardly ever choose our dreams," she said.

"The closer I get, the worse they become." He ventured to the window of the study, but couldn't see out. Whatever illusion the Fade had created for him tonight hadn't gone that far.

"Then I suppose you should find me quickly and bring me home." She stepped up behind him and embraced him, burying her head in the freshly healed skin of his back. The illusion was fading; he took a deep breath that segued into the crew quarter of the _Quicksilver_.

He sat up in the darkness of the cabin. There was no moon tonight, and he couldn't guess the time, but the _Quicksilver _hadn't been anywhere near as fast as advertised. They were three weeks out to sea and a day from Llomerryn; he hoped the _Tournesol_ had been just as slow or slower.

The trip had proven profitable, though; he'd have no trouble securing lodging on the island city for as long as it took to wait for news of the _Tournesol's _arrival. He'd even laid claim to a couple of pieces of jewelry, a lapis necklace and a few golden rings he thought might fetch a good price in Kirkwall.

_Or Minrathous, _he thought. _What have I gotten myself into? _Other than knowing the _Tournesol's _name, he wasn't sure how he was going to go about finding Althaea when he got there. His decision was seeming more and more rash by the minute. If he missed her, would he go as far as Minrathous? Probably not. If she made it that far, he'd never find her. No, Llomerryn would be his first and only chance. He rolled back over in his hammock and willed himself to sleep.

-o-o-o-o-

The _Tournesol _sat high on the water and it appeared a goodly number of people were working in and around the vessel. But when Fenris asked, nobody seemed to know who Althaea was. Had she changed ships at the last minute? No, she was likely traveling under a pseudonym. Well, another one at any rate. He attempted to describe her to a couple of the crew with no luck.

Frustrated and with nowhere else to turn, Fenris decided to hunt for an inn. If he came back tomorrow, there might be other crew on deck and he could ask again or at least inquire as to when the ship would be leaving; for now, though, hunger and fatigue had set in and he wandered off in search of an inn, finding a little hole-in-the-wall called The Laughing Dragon. He ate and slept in the tiny lodging, and the next day he broke out into the city - he'd do a survey of the city's inns and inquire at the ones he thought she'd have the stomach to stay at.

He'd spent all day turning up a whole lot of nothing and was about to give up for the evening when a crook-backed old woman poked him to get his attention in the market.

"You are looking for someone. I think I know who. Come with me."

Fenris cocked an incredulous eyebrow, but obliged her; if she was telling the truth, she'd have the only reliable lead he'd been able to find. The woman led him to what could only be her home: small, dark, but well taken care of. A sign in the front window advertised fortune-telling services and smallcharms. He rolled his eyes; if he'd just walked into a cheap advertising scheme, he'd be furious.

The woman sat on a plush chair and smiled at him. "Now tell me: who is it you seek?"

"A woman, landed in Llomerryn not but three days ago. I'm not sure when she's leaving again."

She eyed him, almost suspiciously, and he got the feeling he was being appraised. He didn't like it one iota. She released the gaze, returning to the blithe smile she'd borne when she'd first gotten his attention. "Your wife. Yes, I saw her. Human girl. Only tall as me, maybe, black hair, funny eyes. Face like a little fox, yes?"

_Wait. What? _"That sounds like her, but she's...not my wife."

It was the woman's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You give her a son, that makes her your wife, does it not?"

His heart quickened, beating savagely against his chest. "We have no child." Or what if they did? Was there something she hadn't told him, when she left?

The woman turned her eyes up as if she were thinking, and then came to a conclusion. "Oh, oh...oh, right. No. Not yet, not yet. Apologies, _hito_. Sometimes I see soon - or then - as now."

She was a Seer then. He'd heard of them - most were hedge mages at best. But some of them, the more dangerous ones in his mind, allowed themselves to become possessed by spirits of the Fade. Was she among them? She pulled him out of the thought with a hand on his.

"No child, not yet," she said. "No son."

Suddenly, he felt like time was brutally short. To business, then. "Althaea, where is she?"

"Hmm. Careful. That is not her name right now, and neither is that her face. Neither can that be yours. You shine too bright. My magic not work on you. But - this will. Take it." She handed him a piece of gold on a string.

"This is...this is..."

"Half your gift. I put a charm on it. Pretty _and_ useful, now."

The half-drakon sat heavy in his hand, and he wondered why Althaea had given it up in the first place. "It's freezing cold."

"Closer you are, warmer it gets, understand? Good. Sometimes you might see or talk to her in the Beyond, too. Very handy." She got up and poked him genially. "Now, you should go. Find your wife."

"She's not my wife."

"Do you not want her?" If the question were an arrow, it would have pierced him straight in the heart. Of course he did! But the bigger question was whether or not she wanted him.

"I...well, no, I do -"

The woman chuckled, lifted open one of his belt pouches, and handed him Althaea's silken scarf. "Then give her a son, make her your wife. Or - whatever order you like, but no sense to delay Fate. Our lives are too short."

She shoved him unceremoniously out the door. He stood outside it for a moment, feeling the cold weight of the coin. He shrugged and strapped it on. It was still cold, but he could feel the power in it; clearly whatever the Seer had done was no smallcharm. It sat low on his chest against the thick chevron of his central chest marking. He couldn't see it underneath his armor, but could feel it reacting to the coin's presence.

He looked down at the scarf the woman had put in his hand. He wondered how she'd known what pocket it was in, but figured there was no point in doing so, now; she'd told him exactly what he'd needed to hear, and just how he'd needed to hear it. At some point in the future - he might never know when, since the seer herself had said she sometimes perceived time as happening all at once - she'd become his wife. She'd be his wife, and they'd have a son, and maybe more...? In his mind's eye, a little girl flashed before him, all dark hair and bright eyes, little pigtails streaming behind her as she ran, half-naked and laughing. He'd have a family. What better way to start his life as a free man, than to make a family?

He jolted from the daydream. First things first. He'd have to find her, tell her how he felt, offer his help, and hope she'd have him. _Closer you are, warmer it gets._ He took a step in one direction, then another, paying close attention to the temperature of the half-coin against his chest.

He continued in this way for a while, feeling it get warmer and warmer as he headed toward what seemed like it might be the rougher side of town; it was quite a bit warmer than the skin of his chest when he heard voices from a nearby plaza. He went to investigate.

Three men had surrounded a diminutive woman, who held a dagger limply at her side. "Just...let me put the knife away," she said, very slowly moving the dagger toward her waist.

"Don't move," said one of the men.

"I'm just putting my knife away. Please, I don't want to drop it; it was a gift."

"Fine, just get it overwith," said the same man, and Fenris saw that, though the woman was sheathing the dagger, she was also reaching for a tiny bottle strapped to her belt. In one quick movement, she hurled the bottle at the men; it exploded with a bright flash of light, one that partially blinded even him. The woman ran in his direction and crashed into him, knocking them both to the ground.

She looked down at him with huge, round blue eyes; her curly hair was a bright copper, almost flaming. Recognition sparked in her face.

"Fenris?" she asked. "What are you...?" Then the shouts of the men in the plaza caught her attention; she got to her feet and pulled him to his.

"How do you know my name?"

"No questions," she said. "Just run!" So they did, the girl lifting up her skirts so she wouldn't trip over them.

She was quicker than she looked, and before long it seemed that they had successfully evaded their pursuers. She turned toward him and caught him in a crushing embrace, bringing her lips to his. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

He gave a startled yelp of surprise. "Maker's breath, woman," he said, and pushed her away. "Kiss your own man!"

The girl laughed. "You must be confused."

The coin burned against his chest. Reminded of the seer's words, he blinked, taking in the sight. "Althaea?"

"Who else would I be?" she asked, and then seemed to realize the source of his confusion. She reached up and removed her own half of the drakon.

Her features seemed to melt away, revealing her own; he was never so relieved in that instant to see her face. "I've been looking everywhere for you," he said.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I never should have left you. I've been regretting it ever since I got here..." She buried her head in his chest, or as close to it as she could. "We should talk. Your inn or mine?"

"I think mine is closer."

She nodded and gestured for him to lead the way, putting the drakon back around her neck and turning back into the not-her.

"So, what was that?" he asked, as they walked back to his inn.

"A deal gone a little wrong, though I did manage to get what I wanted."

"Which was?"

She reached for a tiny bottle, which contained liquid a violent shade of purple. "Magebane. I ran out when...well, with Danarius. Even here it's not exactly street-legal."

"How did you get it in the first place?" He consulted a street sign and had took a left down Via Borealis before he figured out the answer. Of course. Templars carried gobbets of the stuff; it made sense that she'd have had easy access to it when she was still aligned with them.

"Rickard gave it to me," she said, confirming his thought. She was silent for a while, and he squeezed her hand a little tighter as they continued to walk. _I hope we don't wind up needing it,_ he thought, but said nothing. For a moment, life seemed almost normal: he was walking down the street, hand in hand - or hand in gauntlet, anyway, Maker, he hoped he wasn't hurting her - with the woman he loved. Nevermind that they were in an island city built almost especially for pirates. In fact, it seemed even more comfortable; here in Llomerryn, no one seemed to find the sight of a fully armored elf and his human lover offensive, or even a little odd.

"How did you find me?" she finally asked, as they crossed into the lower market.

In response, he smiled and pulled the other half of the drakon out from where it hung. She laughed. "Amazing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she took it as payment and said I might need it later. It kind of makes me wonder just how much she _can_ see."

Fenris wondered whether the seer had told her the same things she told him; it might account for the greeting he'd recieved. Then again, Althaea might just have been very happy to see him. "I've never seen anything quite like it," he said, and put the drakon back inside his tunic. It had stopped burning. "What did she do?"

"It was a little hard to understand the explanation. We're half of each of our parents, right? So the charm makes the other half show."

"So...you look like your mother?" They reached The Laughing Dragon and he led her to the tiny room.

"I suppose. But that's the thing," she said. "My mother looked nothing like this, and for the life of me I can't remember any cousins that did, either. So unless my father was having a heretofore unknown affair with some random woman, the charm doesn't work quite as advertised."

As soon as he closed the door, she removed it again. He hadn't quite realized how relieved he was to see the real her again, but the tension sapped from him as her face changed. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that," he said.

"I didn't either, but I had a good long look at myself the day I got it...I never thought I could be beautiful." She tossed the half-coin into the air and caught it.

He might not have thought it when they'd first met, but now he found her the most beautiful woman in all of Thedas. "I like this face much more," he said, and she smiled at him.

"I'm glad," she said, and reached up to kiss him. He sighed in frustration when she bumped into the guard on the upper half of his breast plate.

"Let me get this off," he said, and began to remove his gauntlets. Her hands lit upon the scarf wrapped around his vambrace.

"You kept it," she said.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know." She unwrapped it so he could remove the armguard and put it on the nightstand, then sat on the bed. "I left...I was sure you'd never forgive me for it."

He finished removing his armor and joined her. "I do want to know why you didn't ask me to come with you."

"I just...well, it seemed cruel for the asking. You've told me so many times about how many terrible memories you had in Minrathous, and I didn't have the heart to put you through it."

He understood that, at least. He made his loathing for Tevinter clear on a regular basis. "So you couldn't even tell me?"

"I feared you'd try and convince me to stay," she said. "And I think I would have. In fact, if you asked me to come home with you right now, I probably would, too."

"That, _amara, _would be cruel for the asking." He held her close, the better to make his point. "I know you need to do this, and I want to help."

"There is one small problem," she said.

"What is that?"

"You're a little easy to recognize, and I have a feeling any reports that reach my father are going to list you as a potential traveling companion."

He realized the truth of it, and racked his brain for an idea. "What was your cover in the first place?"

"I'm a delegate of the dwarven merchants' guild, and I'm going to Minrathous to strike a deal on silks."

"Well, as it so happens, I have connections with the guild, and you have access to a different face. So...I'm a hired guard. We just need to charter a different ship."

"Just like old times," she said, and smiled. "Are you comfortable with that?"

"As comfortable as I can ever be whenever travel to Minrathous is involved."

"If we were going to Solas, I'd have given you a tour, showed you all the places I grew up, let you taste the wine. It might have made you feel better."

Fenris might actually have liked that, but Solas wasn't where they were going. There were nice enough places in Minrathous, however, places he'd been as Danarius's guard. He remembered somewhat liking some of them for their beauty or their cultural interest; showing her those places might well help both of them get over their fears. "There are a few places in Minrathous I'd have you visit. Did you ever see the library at the Argent Spire?"

The surprise on her face made him laugh. "No, I've only ever been to the university. Father took us - me and Phoebus, I mean - to some sort of dinner club, but I didn't pay much attention to anything else...I was too busy being angry about being affianced to some whelp from Antiva."

_Wait. What? _"You were promised to someone?"

"I was. But when I went to Septimus, I lost my title and I'm sure the deal fell through. Good thing, too. He was an insufferable jackass. Nothing like you."

He laughed again, and kissed her. "I'm glad you think I'm not insufferable."

"You are most certainly insufferable," she said, "but definitely not a jackass. Besides, everyone knows your prickly exterior is just a front, and that deep down inside you're sweet and soft."

Fenris, who'd never heard himself described as 'soft', wasn't sure how to take it. "Only where you're concerned," he said. "I have appearances to keep up."

She wriggled her way out from underneath his arm and straddled him with a mischievous grin, making his blood boil. "Maybe 'soft' is the last thing I want from you right now."

_Oh, Maker._ It'd been four weeks since he'd spent a night with her, and suddenly he found 'soft' was impossible. He matched her grin. "I am only too happy to oblige."

He hauled her off him and disappeared with her under the sheets.

* * *

**Postscript: **god i hope i did that right


	21. Interlude V: In Dreams

**A/N: **Just a teensy interlude here while I figure out how the hell I'm going to approach Minrathous. So, just a little warning here. Not only am I breaking canon now, I'm breaking lore (Please don't hurt me, Lord Gaider!). But I'm allowed to have a little fun, right? Right. I'm just gonna go with it, and if people hate it - well, that's always what the second draft is for.

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

**INTERLUDE V: IN DREAMS**

He was in the dungeon again. Again, he was stripped naked and lashed to the rack, arms and legs spread, muscles burning with the strain of supporting his weight, mind burning with the intensity of his humiliation.

In a corner of his mind he knew that this was just a dream, a cruel imitation of the Fade, one that seemed to come more and more often as he drew nearer to Tevinter. In that same corner, he knew that his sleeping body was cuddled around Althaea, though she had to wear that cursed amulet to maintain the not-her-face, and he knew that they were in a passenger cabin aboard a ship bound for the last place either of them wanted to be. That corner of his mind didn't quite seem to shove the rest of it out, so he continued to strain against the rack, head hung low, mouth dry, cracked lips and bruised skin reflecting on his form.

"Maker, what is this place?"

The voice didn't belong to his tormentor, another slave forced to beat the living daylights out of Fenris on Danarius's order. Nor did it belong to Danarius - it was female - or to Hadriana - it was far too guileless for that.

The small corner of his mind, the one that knew who he really was, rejoiced. _You are a free man_, it cried. _You are a free man, and none of this will ever happen to you again. _It pushed against his consciousness, begging him to set himself free.

"No, not if I can help it," said the voice, and the person attached to it began to cut him from his bonds. _Did I think that, or say it? _The corner pushed harder...

...and won.

He collapsed into a heap in Althaea's arms - he knew who she was, now, and she was wearing her proper face - and she held and petted him as he caught his breath.

"Where are we?"

"I think we're dreaming." _See her, or talk to her sometimes, in the Beyond. _But what about the nights they had spent together that this hadn't happened?

Wait. She hadn't been wearing the amulet at night...until tonight.

"That can't be possible." She stood up, helping him to his feet. "I mean, I've heard of non-mages being put into the Fade, but..."

"But there was no mage, I know. I...I did this once before, not long before I met you. It took a lot of lyrium, and a ritual, and I think...I think we have both. I can explain later."

He realized he was still naked, and while he generally didn't take issue with it around Althaea, this place...it was too much. No sooner had he wished for clothes when a tunic and trousers appeared on a table nearby. He grabbed them and put them on.

"You never did tell me where we were," she said to him. "I...I don't think this is my dream."

"It is..." he faltered. "It is one of my memories." She gave a choked cry, but he could not meet her eyes.

"I don't think you ever told me about this," she said. "Maker, love, he did this to you?"

"Not...not often. Please, I don't want to talk about it." She squeezed the hand that held his as if it might fall off; the pressure was surprisingly welcome. It anchored and soothed him, and he became aware of a door at the end of the hall. "Come. There's a door, here."

"Maybe if we cross it, we'll wake." She followed him, apprehension written in her eyes. He opened the door, and light streamed in, blinding against the gloom of the dungeon.

It was a soirée, the kind which he remembered Danarius liked to throw, though the setting didn't seem familiar. A little gasp at his side told him that this was not his memory, but hers.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"This is...this is Septimus's estate. I remember this party." She walked a little faster, toward an improvised stage. Bolts of silk hung from the ceiling; he watched as three nubile young slaves wound their way up them, wrapping their legs and arms in various configurations before dropping themselves artfully down.

She eyed the unoccupied bolt of silk and began to climb it. Had she always been wearing the skintight leggings she had on? He couldn't remember.

She pulled herself into a split, then performed some kind of complicated maneuver that dropped her nearly to the floor. His heart stopped, then started again when he realized she was totally in control. _Of course, _he thought. _She's always been at home with the climb. _Well dressed men - he recognized a few as magisters - watched the performance. Some were politely disinterested, while others...well, the looks on their faces were interested, but perhaps less in the maneuvering than in the ones doing it.

She tangled herself back up again, then came back down, breathing heavily. A bittersweet smile was on her face. "I don't remember what I did...or if there was anything that I did at all, but the memory of this was my first performance, and my last."

"You enjoyed it too much," he said.

"Enjoyment of one's duties is a dangerous thing for a slave," she said. "Now that I think about it, I'm sure you're right." She heaved a sigh. "Nothing that happens after this is any good. I...no. No...let's go."

"What happened?"

She hung her head in shame. "I don't want to talk about it, love. It's long over."

He didn't know, but he had the pervasive feeling that the night she was dreaming of had been the first night Septimus had registered an interest in her beyond his original plan for her service. It was almost as if the suggestion had been planted in his mind from outside.

"Another door," he said, and pulled her by the arm. The other doors in the dream shimmered and didn't seem real; somehow he knew this one would take them somewhere else.

_Somewhere happy, _he wished_. _He threw the door open, and smiled.

-o-o-o-o-

Althaea stepped with him onto a surreal field, full of tall grass and...poppies? She actually laughed out loud at the sight of it, and let her hand fall from Fenris's grasp as she spun around, smelling the fresh air around her and quite forgetting that all of it was just a construct of the Fade.

"This is yours, isn't it?" she asked. Fenris chuckled and nodded.

"The business of escaping isn't always a somber one," he said. "This field was one of the most beautiful places I'd ever seen, and I've always remembered it."

A high pitched giggle tore through the air, surprising her, and she noticed Fenris straighten and smile. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure, but I have an idea." He ran toward the source of the noise, smiled, beckoned. Althaea followed.

She'd taken scarcely a few paces when she found herself bowled over by a small tangle of limbs. There was another giggle, and when she recovered she looked up at a pair of green eyes.

Fenris's eyes, but not in Fenris's face, in a chubby human boy's instead. His hair fell in a dark mop, his knees were skinned, and he had a sticky something on his cheek, as if he'd just eaten a sweet and forgotten to wipe his mouth.

She blinked, her breath caught in her chest until light steps behind her signaled Fenris's return. She remembered and inhaled mightily, then turned around.

A little girl. He was holding a little girl, maybe two years old at the most, who stretched her arms out toward her and said, "Mamae!"

She took the child from Fenris, who was smiling more broadly than she'd ever seen him smile. She sat down, awestruck, so she wouldn't faint, and he sat next to her, hoisting the boy into his lap with a theatrical groan.

"You dreamt this," she said, still so bewildered she couldn't manage inflection in her voice.

"Never before tonight," he said, "but when I opened the door, I wished for something happy." He cocked a smirk.

"You think...you think this is happy?"

"Absolutely I do," he said, and ruffled the little boy's hair. "Althaea, they're ours. I dreamt of them, but they're ours." There was an excitement, an eagerness to him that she'd also never seen before.

"How did they...?" She was still confused, blissful, but confused. Theirs?

"Well, I imagine we get them in the...traditional way," he quipped. "But no, the seer told me I would give you a son."

"And her?" She nuzzled the little girl's nose, who laughed heartily. "What about her?"

"She was my idea," he said, rather proudly. "I'd...never thought about it, but I think I'd very much like a daughter." He kissed her forehead. "And a wife."

"Wife," she repeated stupidly.

"If you will have me."

A haze began to descend upon the dream field, and thick raindrops fell. "It will never be this easy," she said. "Not unless..."

"We will make it work," he said, effectively stopping her. The children were gone. "I would fight every one of the archdemons bare-handed to make it work."

_I would fight every one of the archdemons bare-handed to make it work._ _Maker, this can't be real, if it isn't...the most magic-shy man I know is proposing to me in the Fade. And I don't even know how I got there!_ "I don't know what to say."

"I do believe a 'yes' will suffice, if you will have me." He was looking nervous now, so she took his cheek in her hands and looked directly into his eyes.

"As if it were ever a question." She leaned in and kissed him, then woke. Their cabin was dark and musty, the sheets of the ship's bed thin, but he was still parked across from her...

...awake, and looking directly into her eyes. "Well?" he asked.

_It wasn't just a dream._ _Oh, Maker..._ "Yes," she said. He breathed a sigh of relief, and hugged her tight.

"When we get home, then," he said, and kissed her until she fell asleep, returning to the same sunny field.

Two weeks to Minrathous, and then who knew how many more to get Cora out of her father's clutches. If they could keep returning to this place, though, everything else didn't seem so bad.

-o-o-o-

**Postscript: **I couldn't resist the siren call of Fenbabies, my bad. Also, I know _so_ many versions of them that have pointed ears, but for all my breaking of lore I can't let go of the bit that all half-elves in Thedas are human.

Honestly, I don't think Papa Fenris would mind one single bit. I'm just gonna go with it.

See you in Minrathous!

-OrielleD


	22. Arrival

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - ARRIVAL**

_I wish I could hold her hand._

Fenris fidgeted at the head of the docking ramp of their ship, where they'd spent two weeks cramped in a tiny passenger hold. At the very least, they hadn't had to share their accommodation with anyone else; this had allowed them the privacy necessary to anchor each other in preparation for what Fenris saw as an oncoming storm. As the coastline of the Imperium came into view, anxiety had settled in like a dark fog over both of them. Between that first surprising night and then, there had been silly talk of children and weddings and plans to legally acquire the borrowed manse; all of that had gone away and the subject matter had shifted to darker things: plans, fears, contingencies.

She was so sure everything would be all right.

"The Maker sent her a vision of our son," she'd said. Her faith, suddenly, seemed unshakable, though he was convinced the Seer hadn't been an Andrastean in even the loosest sense of the word. "I suppose that means we stay alive long enough to make him."

"I can't decide whether it is certainty you have, or blindness," he'd replied, commingled awe and exasperation in his voice.

Despite it, she'd smiled and kissed him. He'd found he was slowly getting used to her other face, her other name. Underneath, it was still the same woman, the same damnable, beautiful, amazing woman. "At least you can't decide."

Now they were here, with nowhere to go but down, into this place where there seemed to be a bad memory on every corner. He clenched his fingers together, imagining her small hand was there in his, and that they were venturing out into the capital city together, on a mission to forge a good memory in every place where he'd had a terrible one.

Her voice, the not-her voice, spoke up in a whisper only his sensitive hearing could pick up. "Our contact is supposed to meet us here," she said. "If Varric's letter in Llomerryn was accurate...I sent word of the ship change."

He only nodded, mentally steeling himself to play this part, this role...again. Somehow though, even though it was unpaid this time, it felt...right.

Maybe this _would _be easier than he thought it would be. "Are you ready?" he asked, keeping in mind that her human ears were not as sharp as his.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she said, then quietly, an even smaller whisper: "Te amo_._" _I love you._

Funny how the phrase was the same in Arcanum and Antivan. He smiled and followed her down the ramp.

They waited, and waited, and perhaps an hour or two before sunset they were approached by an armed male slave, tall and elven, dusky-skinned as Fenris himself was but brown of hair and eye. _Another Seheron elf, _he thought. _With the recent troubles, there have been so many come here for shelter. Including myself, if the people who've told me so are to be believed._

"Amelia Fox?" he asked. His voice was well-modulated and the pinnacle of professionalism. A high-ranking slave, then, or perhaps even a freeman, though the former was more likely here in the capital.

"Yes," Althaea said, standing up and curtseying to his bow. But not too deep a curtsey, Fenris noted - until she knew his caste it was best not to assume anything and risk offending the elf.

Luckily for them, his next sentence cleared that right up. "My name is Nigel. On behalf of my mistress, I bid you welcome to Minrathous. Please, follow me."

Here, they didn't have the luxury of their own private language, and that bothered him more than he thought it would. He wanted to coach her in what to say, how to act, and quite forgot that she knew all of the Imperium's traditions...from both sides of the coin. She was carrying herself as befit a delegate of a powerful merchant - not terribly important, but still more so than her hired man or her slave. Only Fenris knew how uncomfortable she was, and that was only because he'd known her for quite some time at this point.

Nigel escorted them into a carriage and, rather than staying outside as a footman, accompanied them and pointed out various landmarks of the city as it rolled by them. Maker, how he wanted to hold her hand!

_Tonight, _he thought. _She will insist that we are quartered together and given privacy, and I will ensure it. _

The contact, whoever she was, had a sprawling estate near the financial district, and only a few blocks away from the dwarven embassy. He'd been past these gates before, but never inside. The gates opened, and Nigel seemed to relax as soon as the carriage passed into the threshold.

Fenris was not expecting what happened next. As they arrived at the end of the drive, a very tall, beautiful woman opened the carriage door. Nigel grinned as he pointed them out, and the woman gathered Althaea up into a warm embrace. Fenris's hand tickled and he very nearly reached for his sword; only Nigel's relaxed stance and Althaea's acceptance of the demonstration kept him from doing so.

"Darling," she said, as if she'd known Althaea for years. "Welcome to my home, and yours too, for a little while, I suppose."

Nigel looked Fenris in the eye with a rakish grin. "May I present my mistress, the magister Maevaris Tilani."

_A magister! _He tensed again, but Tilani made a dismissive shake of her hand. "Nonsense," she said. "Call me Mae." She gestured excitedly for Fenris to exit the carriage as well, and treated him to a hearty handshake.

"Nigel, their bags, if you please?" The elf raised an eyebrow and supervised the movement of their few pieces of luggage. They followed the magister - _Mae, _he reminded himself, _some magister she is, if she prefers to use her cognomen amongst her lessers _- as she led them through a set of marbled halls.

"You'll find that things are a little more comfortable in my home than you're used to, especially if you've visited the Imperium before. We do try to keep up appearances when...guests...are around, but as you're a delegate of my dear cousin-in-law Varric, I shall consider you family, with all the attendant privileges." She turned toward Fenris. "I do hope that's okay."

He nodded, not quite sure what to say.

"I didn't catch your name," she said to him.

He was not expecting to be addressed directly, and stammered a bit before answering, "Leto, if it pleases you, magis...Mae." Althaea's lips quirked up, an astonished little smile, and he returned it. _If she gets a different name, I do, too. _In fact, it felt a little cathartic; one magister had stripped him of that name, and now it seemed he was getting it back from another.

"Friend of my cousin's, as well?"

"Yes, we have a working relationship. I agreed to escort Amelia for him."

"Lovely. Ah! And there's Castor, the old goat." She took Althaea's hand in hers and squeezed it, bright eyes shining. "Castor is the house steward; he will see you to suitable accommodation. If you need anything, please ring for him or for Nigel, and either will be more than happy to sort things out for you. I'm sorry to say I'm terribly busy, and I'm sure your journey was long and arduous - I'll leave you be for the evening, and would like an audience in the morning, if you would."

Althaea nodded a silent _yes_, still looking rather like she'd been hit by a flying nug. Mae turned to leave, skirts flapping behind her, followed closely by Nigel, who seemed altogether closer to her than Fenris thought he might have seemed at first.

Castor, an elderly human with clear sharp eyes, cleared his throat, bringing Althaea back into the world.

"Serah Fox, if you please, am I to assume...Leto...is your hired man?"

"Yes, a hired guard," she said. "I should like it if we are quartered adjacent to each other, in connected rooms if possible."

"That can be arranged," he said, and flagged down a young elven woman, all smiles and curtseys. _Maker, they seem...happy. And genuinely so, I never could have imagined this to be life in a magister's home._ He wondered if he would ever have wanted to leave, if this was what being a slave in Maevaris Tilani's retainer was like. He immediately hated himself for the thought.

"Samara, please take our guests to the Green Suite in the East Wing, and see to it that they are attended to."

"Yes, sir," she said, and led them into a large hallway. It was a long walk, but Samara pointed out the histories of some of the works of art displayed along the hall.

They reached what was known as the Green Suite; a warm room with teak paneling and corkwood floors, filled with live plants and greenery at every turn. "The mistress must like you very much, to give you the Green Suite," Samara said. "Shall I call for baths, serah?"

"I believe we can fill our own," Althaea said, "but I don't think either of us would say no to a hot meal..."

"And some privacy," Fenris said, causing Samara to erupt into a shy titter. "...what?"

"You don't need to keep such things secret here," Samara said, still giggling. "The mistress holds all of us in strictest confidence; many of us were bought from...much less pleasant places."

"You adore her," Althaea mused.

"And rightly so," Samara said. "We cannot rid ourselves of our castes, but we want for nothing, even holidays off."

"Free in all but name," Fenris said, frowning.

"We _can_ be freed, if we like," Samara said, defiant. "I choose to stay."

He grunted. Far be it from him to hold the weak in condescension - the girl in front of him would be recaptured and resold within a week of her contract being annulled by a judge.

"In any case," Samara said, interrupting his train of thought, "we are family, we keep our secrets, and you should not be afraid to be yourselves whilst among us."

"What about spies?" Fenris found himself asking. It was unheard of for a magister's home to be free of that silent menace.

"They come...and then they stay," Samara said. "Wouldn't you?"

He supposed he would.

"Are there any preferences for dinner? I believe there's a beef stew still on the fire, or I can send for something more substantial."

Fenris looked at Althaea, who shrugged. "Stew will be fine, thank you," he said.

"It is done," she said. "I'll instruct them to ring and leave a tray outside the door. May I also send for wine?"

"Maker, yes," Fenris sighed.

Althaea giggled and her eyes lit up with a thought. "Do you have anything from the Silent Plain vineyard?"

Samara thought about it for a second. "We might," she finally said. "If I find anything, I'll send it up with your dinner. Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you," Althaea said, and Samara curtsied and left the room. Fenris, still hypervigilant, began to scan the room for strategic points and possible eavesdropping locations, but found none.

"Clean," he said, nodding his head bemusedly. "I don't trust this. It's..."

"Too good to be true?" Althaea asked. He nodded a yes. "I thought so, too, but she's Varric's cousin, and trust begets trust. Let's just...try and enjoy ourselves while we can."

Fenris couldn't argue with that logic, so he continued to explore the suite. There were two bedrooms, one with a huge, overstuffed bed, the other with a more modest mattress. He jiggled the dwarven plumbing that fed the bath; the water came out hot within seconds. _Magically heated, plumbed-in water,_ he thought. _The things I forget about this place. _He threw several sachets into the tub and some bath oils for good measure, then called Althaea over.

She trudged into the bathing suite, but straightened up and smiled when she saw the filled copper tub. Fenris removed the enchanted coin from her neck. "There you are," he whispered as he saw her face for the first time in two weeks. _Maker, but I've missed it. _With tenderness that surprised even him, he helped her remove her clothing and step into the bath, then did so himself.

They had to drain the tub and refill it once, after washing themselves of the sweat and salt from the journey; the second time they relaxed into the hot, sweetly scented water, exhausted and happy to be on dry land again for longer than a few days. They sat together, her back to his chest, skin red from the heat and steam. He carded his fingers through her wet hair, still quite short but nowhere near as severe as the cut she'd made when she'd first removed it in what he considered a fit of pique.

Nothing felt so good as this moment. _Affianced, intended, betrothed, engaged, whatever one might call it, she's pledged herself to me._ The next thought came to him, unbidden: _She is mine._ He dismissed it, frowning, unwilling to make that semantic jump, but feeling blood pool in his loins at its appearance nonetheless.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. She turned to face him, water sloshing as she did.

"I was just thinking," he said, and smiled down at her.

"Oh?" She was a little coy now, doubtless trying to wrest the truth of his train of thought from him. One pout was all she needed to accomplish that. "What about?"

"Semantics," he said. "I...sometimes think to myself, 'she is mine'; but it doesn't sound right...or fair."

"You don't seem to take issue with saying it the other way around. It's become something of a catch phrase." _Only because even after all this time, "I love you" is hard for me to say._

"I suppose you're right."

"Well, that's settled then." She sloshed around a little more as she laid a delicate kiss across the bridge of his nose, then got out of the bath; water splashed all over the drain tiled floor. She toweled herself down, then helped him out as well. Two silk robes were hanging on the door, and she eschewed her own clothing for one of them. He followed suit.

The bell must have rung while they were in the bath, he decided, for when they exited the bathing chamber, a silver tray rested just outside the door, holding two tureens of a delicious-smelling stew and a bottle of wine nestled in a bucket of ice. _Silent Plain Vineyard_, announced the bottle in delicate scrollwork.

Althaea's face lit up at the sight of it. "Maker, I never thought I'd see the sight of this again. And the ice wine!"

"Ice wine?" He'd heard of it, but never tried it. It was incredibly rare and expensive.

"From my family's vineyard, and from 2021, too. That was a good year." They saved the bottle for dessert, and she cracked it open for a taste. "Just as good as I remember."

"You never told me about this," he said, as he relaxed into the sitting room sofa with her. "This is amazing."

"I suppose I never really thought about it," she said. "All I ever knew was that I could never go back..."

"Well, hopefully this is close enough," he said, and helped her finish the rest of the bottle. The drink only added to their already substantial exhaustion, and Fenris found himself carrying her to the gigantic bed before succumbing to it himself and falling down into the sheets.

He was the most comfortable he'd been in weeks, full of hot food and strong wine, holding his _amara_ in his arms, his future wife, Maker he couldn't let go of that thought...

"You are mine," he said, his last words before falling asleep. Her only response was a torpid snuggle against his chest. In the morning they'd get to business, starting with a meeting with Mae; for now, there was rest without dreams.

**Postscript: **CONTEST TIME! 75th review gets a custom one-shot (approx 3000 words) in this AU. Who will be the lucky winner?


	23. The Morning Audience

**A/N: **If you got a new chapter notification twice, I'm super sorry. I didn't get a notification, so I assumed no one else did. :)

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

**THE MORNING AUDIENCE**

Sunlight streamed through the east-facing windows of their suite, waking Althaea slowly. She'd have been grateful for a dusty straw mattress and dry land, but this...this was so much nicer.

_Luxury here is the same as luxury anywhere, _she thought._ If I don't leave this room, I might well forget I'm in the heart of the Imperium._

Fenris was still asleep next to her, the occasional snore punctuating his rhythmic breath. She smiled and let him be when she got up; it seemed he rarely slept, and these moments were well worth preserving.

She put the amulet back on and padded toward the balcony. She was briefly grateful that the searing heat of summer had mostly abated; the last time she'd visited Minrathous it had been miserably hot, even with the coastal weather patterns ameliorating the worst of it.

Maker, but the strange places she'd been, and she'd go to stranger ones still if Mae's demeanor was any indication. The woman had to be the oddest magister Althaea had ever met, and she had the feeling she hadn't even seen the strangest of it yet. She leaned up against the balcony railing and smiled to herself. _It will be interesting to see how her behavior shapes Fenris's opinion of magisters. I don't think he's ever had one on his side._

She wondered what she'd do to get ahold of Cora, now that she was in town. She reached for the brand, feeling it; if only the sigil belonged to her father's house, and not Septimus's! She sighed. Perhaps there was some way for Mae to heal and brand her again. She could draw the Demitridis sigil by heart. She'd seen it every time she'd seen Merry without a shirt; it had been placed on his chest, and not his shoulder.

A gentle knock at the door jolted her out of her musing, and she cracked it open to reveal a smiling Samara.

"Good morning, messere," she said. "I came to see if you and Leto cared to break your fast."

"That would be welcome, Samara, my thanks." She ventured back into the room, where somehow her spare wardrobe had been unpacked; it seemed severe in comparison to the richly colored dresses that were hung next to it. A little note pinned to the first of them said _please accept with my compliments_ and appeared to have been signed by Mae. So it was to be like Orlais again? Perhaps not. She was a different person now, she supposed, and she marveled at how so little time - what, eighteen months? - could change a person. It was as if her world had been tipped on its axis by the experiences of a mere five weeks.

She stripped herself of the robe and tried on the only dress that appeared would fit without alteration, but fought to lace the bodice. She sighed. Almost all her dresses were easy to get on and off without attendants, but this? Well, she might have to get Samara's help when she came back up with breakfast.

Almost silent footsteps alerted her to the fact that Fenris was awake. She turned around and smiled up at him, regarding his messy hair, his eyes still half clouded over with sleep, his morning glory - fading, but still tenting the front of his robe.

"Allow me," he said, and she turned around to let him draw and tie the laces closed. He followed by thumbing through the closet for something to wear himself.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked.

"I don't know. Perhaps an hour."

"You should have woken me."

"You've had precious little rest, love. It seemed kinder to let a sleeping wolf lie."

He chuckled at the turn of phrase. "Yes, I suppose I'm a right beast when I've been deprived of it."

"Not really, but you get these terrible rings under your eyes. Very unattractive." She laughed and poked his nose as he rolled his eyes at her.

"I require little sleep."

"It's a luxury you can afford now. If I were you I'd take full advantage of it." She heard another knock, and kissed his shoulder before attending to it.

The meal was simple - kippered mackerel, tomatoes, eggs, and toast. She watched as he daintily pushed the fish to the side.

"Really, Fenris?" she asked as she speared the rejected meat with her fork and moved it to her own plate.

"It's disgusting."

"You didn't have a problem with the bouillabaisse in Val Royeaux."

"First of all, that was fresh shellfish. Second - _anything _is appetizing, if one is hungry enough."

It was her turn for an eyeroll. They finished their meal and rang for Samara to escort them to Mae's office for the promised meeting.

Her office was cluttered, bordering on messy - books lay helter skelter in different areas of the room, plates of half-finished food littered the giant oak desk, and art hung from every wall, strange pieces that seemed little more than splatters on canvas. Nigel casually leaned on a bookshelf, looking rather bored.

"Ah!" she said, as Samara bowed and left. "Welcome to my humble abode. My apologies for the mess, but I'm the only one I trust to clean it and things have been...interesting." Althaea imagined that the word _interesting_ was likely a euphemism, as in that ancient, polite curse: _May you live in interesting times._ Mae gestured for the two to sit in plush chairs across from her, and poured out four small brandies.

"To business, then," she said. "Varric tells me the nature of your inquiry is...rather sensitive, and suggested that sharing the details by letter would be...unwise. Thus, I'm required to ask for an explanation."

Fenris's jaw dropped and his brow furrowed in surprise. "You offered to help without even knowing why?"

"Naturally."

He let loose an astonished little grunt.

"I should clarify," she continued. "As they say, "blood is thicker than water'."

"I believe that's less a family phrase than a warrior one."

"Those who bleed together, stick together, I know." She crossed her legs and steepled her fingers over the desk. "That being said, Varric's requests are of...rather high importance to me. He saw fit to help you, therefore I do. I trust my family."

Althaea couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. She might be far from home, far from Marnus Pell, but Tevinter seemed to have a stink all its own, one that rested heavily on her psyche. "If only everyone thought the way you do."

"Ah, and that's the situation in a nutshell, isn't it? This...Cora, is your mother. You were freed, but she was not? Is that correct?"

She supposed the easiest way to explain the situation was to remove her amulet and show Mae her real face, her father's face. "I believe it's a little more complicated than that."

"Oh, Maker," she breathed, and took a moment to gather herself. "I'd heard rumors, but..."

"What rumors did you hear?"

"That the Archon had an estranged daughter, one he exiled before he rose to power."

The lengths to which one would go to hide the truth. Amazing. She had no doubt her father had perpetuated that rumor himself, and she had to chuckle at the thought. "He sold me to a rival for daring to love a slave. If he wants to call that exile, he's welcome to delude himself."

She looked at Fenris, who was staring at her with a rather dejected look; he so rarely saw this side of her, and she knew it bothered him to see a reflection of himself in it.

"I'm assuming you're in Minrathous to return the favor?"

"No."

Nigel, who had been silent as a stone, spoke up. "Funny, I'd want to, were I you." She wondered if he'd had a similar story...two former slaves and a current one in the same room, but all in a better place than they could have been.

"It's...complicated," she said to him, hoping he'd understand.

"It seems pretty clear-cut to me." His cool, well-modulated voice seemed to hold a bit more frost in it.

"He loved me, and he betrayed me. But...I still love him, and even if my blade were against his throat, I'm not sure I could ever make the blow."

Nigel's only answer was a noncommittal grunt.

"As I said...complicated."

Mae interrupted. "May I ask which of his rivals he sold you to?"

"Septimus," she squeezed out, feeling his face waft up in her mind's eye, then shoving it down along with the accompanying disgust. "Now he...if I had the chance, _he_ would meet a sticky end at my hands. But first and foremost, my task is to find Cora and take her home. I won't risk losing her over a petty need for vengeance."

Mae raised a thoughtful hand to her chin. "We may be able to arrange for both."

"With all due respect, Magister -"

"Mae, please."

"Mae. I expected a base of operations for a rescue, not help exacting revenge."

"Yes, but that was before I knew our agendas lined up so nicely. As it so happens, I've been eyeing Septimus's Senate seat for a while now, and he's done a very good job of making enemies of late." She frowned. "Retrieving Cora, on the other hand...I'm not sure how best that's going to work."

"I thought it might be best to infiltrate as a member of the slave caste. It's a part I can play rather well."

"I originally thought that might work as well, but his head of house is just paranoid enough to keep a firm handle on every slave that walks in, on account of spies. You might raise suspicion." She paused for a moment, then pointed at the amulet. "May I see that?"

Althaea handed it to her, and she inspected it, waving her hand over it and uttering a few silent incantations.

"Hmm. This is an extraordinary bit of magic. I've never seen anything like it. Where did you get it?"

The truth of it was likely best. "A Rivaini seer gifted it to me."

"Did she explain how it worked?"

"It was a little hard to understand. She said 'it makes your other half show'."

Fenris piped up. "It also seems to bring us together in the Fade when we dream, if we're both wearing our halves. I, uh...I believe it might be powered by the lyrium in my blood."

Mae seemed truly astonished at the concept, and turned the amulet over and over in her hands. "A Fade-bind without a ritual. _Fascinating._" She shifted in her seat. "You know, sometimes I wonder how much we could learn from our Rivaini neighbors if we could just get over their fondness for the Qun."

She was silent for a little while more, apparently trying to piece together the working of the charmed drakon, then frowned as she came to her conclusion. "I don't know if I could recreate this spell on a more mundane object. Some token that wouldn't be taken away from you if I branded you and lent you to the Archon's kitchens. We will have to think of something else."

Nigel cleared his throat. "If I may?"

Mae didn't look up, but continued to hold the amulet in her hands. "Hmm, yes, go ahead, Nigel."

"The Black Sun is contracted to perform at the Feast of the Eternal Flame. As in years past, they are to be hosted in the Archon's slave quarters. Perhaps she can infiltrate in that manner?"

Althaea was curious. "The Black Sun?"

"They're a performance troupe of sorts that I own," Mae said, "and that I'm rather known for lending out. It...gets me places, especially granted that I'm considered new blood in the magister pool. But the Feast isn't for another three months."

Nigel shrugged. "She'll have to be trained in an act well enough to evade suspicion. Three months may not be long enough."

Althaea fidgeted in her seat, looked at Fenris, then made a decision. "I trained in...silkwork for a time in Septimus's retinue."

Nigel raised a dark eyebrow, regarding her with that same coolness, though she imagined it was a bit less so, now. "Would you feel comfortable taking that task up again?"

"There's nothing I wouldn't do to bring my mother home."

Mae smiled. "Well, then. Nigel, if you would be so kind to contact Phineas, we can get that particular ball rolling."

"It would be my pleasure." Nigel left the room, but the look he exchanged with Mae was unmistakable.

"He's your lover, isn't he?" she asked, earning a pained look from Fenris, who seemed like he'd rather not head in this particular direction.

To both their relief, Mae only laughed, clear and bell-like. "Is it that obvious?"

"No," Fenris said, the annoyance in his voice painfully obvious. "She's just annoyingly perceptive."

Mae leaned forward. "I could say the same about you, yes? Leto is not just your hired man."

"We are betrothed," he said. Mae laughed again. Apparently, they were very entertaining.

"The ultimate revenge, I should say, to a father who disapproves."

"I love whom I love. Revenge had nothing to do with it." In response, Fenris clasped her hand and squeezed. She reveled in the feeling of it.

"To answer your question, yes," Mae said. "Nigel is my lover. I obtained him in a duel a year after Thorold died, and he refused to be freed, though I erased his brand these five years past. He is my greatest confidant, and my capable left hand, and has pledged to spend his life at my side. In Tevinter, it is the closest we can get to a marriage."

Fenris frowned. "You could leave Tevinter with him."

"And in doing so, should I doom my people to lives uncertain in the service of other magisters, or myself to life as an apostate? We are none of us free, dear one. We are all slaves, whether it is in concrete or abstract ways."

That seemed to mollify Fenris, who sat back in his seat but did not let go of her hand.

"Now, it may take a day or two for us to reach Phineas, as he's with the Sun in Qarinus. You have full reign of the grounds, and permission to use any of my facilities as you see fit. Is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable?"

"I should like a chance to practice my weapon work," Fenris said.

"Nigel would be happy for a sparring partner, I'm sure of it."

Althaea had an idea. "Can you...can you reach a professor at the university? I'd like to see my brother Phoebus, see if he is still a man I can trust."

"That can be arranged. I can conspire to summon him for supper, perhaps." They got up and Mae clasped Althaea's hands in hers. "Very well, then. Please do your best to enjoy yourselves, and if you would be so kind as to continue wearing this-" she handed the drakon back to Althaea - "while outside of closed doors, I should very much appreciate it. I trust my people with my life, and my secrets...but it's best not to tempt Fate, the fickle bitch."


	24. Calisthenics and Cantrips

**A/N: **I am putting a trigger warning on this chapter for **torture**, occurring in the last half of the chapter. Also, in _completely unrelated news_...it's my wedding anniversary! Hubs and I have been married a whole two years! Yay us!

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

**CALISTHENICS AND CANTRIPS**

Nigel returned to retrieve Fenris and Althaea before too long, having dispatched a message to Phineas, whoever he was.

"Come," he said. "I'll get you out of Mae's hair and show you around." Fenris was only too happy to follow, but couldn't help shaking his head in amusement at Althaea, who seemed to be following him around like some sort of curious bird.

"The main kitchen," Nigel announced, as he opened the door to a largish area bustling with activity. "The serving staff -"

"The slaves, you mean," said Fenris. _I have no patience for euphemisms._

"We chose the semantics," Nigel said coolly, though the look in his eyes quite suggested his interruption was very unwelcome. "Unless there is a soirée or some other pre-scheduled event, the serving staff are off at ten. If you require anything after that, you're on your own, hence a tour of the kitchen." He then pointed out the pantry and took them down a set of stairs.

"The wine cellar. Feel free to take anything from here with the exception of the Aggregio, which is not to be decanted without Mae's express permission. If you haven't discovered so already, the Green Suite has a small liquor cabinet that you're welcome to empty at your leisure."

They left the kitchens and up what looked to be a very plain service corridor. "This is the easiest way to the rest of the estate, and guests are generally not shown this, so you'll find no marble or granite here." They reached a different wing, popping out of a nondescript door and back to the tapestried halls.

"The library," he said, opening the door and smirking at Althaea's little gasp. Fenris couldn't blame her; the ceilings were at least fifteen feet high and stacked from top to bottom with books on every subject. Large plush poufs were scattered across the space, and large windows kept the room very well lit. The place would be a paradise for her.

He turned toward Althaea. "You can come back whenever you like - we have a fairly large collection of arcana and thaumaturgical texts. For now though, I'd like to show you the grounds."

Althaea had one last wistful look at the library, but Fenris ushered her out with a gentle hand.

The gardens were standard Minrathous fare: ostentatious and overbearing, but at the other end of them there was what appeared to be...

"Lastly, we have the training grounds," Nigel said. "Armory is over there, we have a small archery range if you're so inclined, and the gymnasium is relatively new; Mae had it built when she assembled the Sun. You'll be spending a fair amount of time there, Amelia, once they return from Qarinus."

"May I start training now?" she asked. The question seemed to put Nigel off his guard.

"Well, I suppose, yes. A goodly amount of the equipment travels with them, but the hardware mounted to the rafters is permanent; you may not be able to patch together a rigging for yourself."

Althaea shrugged. "I'll likely start with floor work, anyway."

"Good." Nigel turned to Fenris. "I was told you might want a sparring partner?"

"I could use the practice," he said. It had been weeks since he'd been able to run through his training exercises. "I saw you were armed with daggers?"

"They are my preference, yes, but if you'd like I'm happy to use a different weapon for practice."

"I'd like to see the armory, myself, if you don't mind."

"Certainly."

"You gentlemen go ahead," Althaea said, interrupting the conversation. "I think I hear some books calling my name." She squeezed Fenris's hand and departed up the path at a steady clip.

Nigel laughed. "I was wondering how long it would be before she did that."

Fenris shook his head and smiled, and they walked into the armory. "I had my bets on a much shorter time than this, that's for sure." He had a look around; it was well appointed, and if she had need of it, Mae could likely equip a small complement of personal soldiers.

"Training blades are in this corner. Pick what you like," Nigel said. Fenris found a greatsword similar to his own, but the blunted blade would help keep injuries to a minimum during practice. Nigel took two blunted dirks and walked out to the gymnasium.

He took a few experimental swings of the greatsword; it was relatively well balanced and of fairly high quality for a training instrument. Nigel had a stretch of his own, then sank into a battle stance. "Ready when you are."

They sparred for a time. Nigel was competent enough, and far quicker than he, making up what he lacked in brute strength in speed and cunning and parrying nearly all of Fenris's blows.

"Very good!" he said as he warded off the greatsword one more time. "Where did you learn your craft?"

"I served the magister Danarius for several years," Fenris said, thrusting in Nigel's direction but narrowly missing on account of the other elf's fine reflexes.

"I've heard of him," Nigel said with a frown as he caught Fenris's blade with his daggers and turned it aside. "He tried to buy me, some three years ago. Luckily for me -" he flanked Fenris, but couldn't execute the strike - "Mae couldn't agree to a price."

"I should say she considers you rather priceless," Fenris said. _Buy Nigel...? Was he attempting to create another like me, then?_ It made a sick sort of sense. He was similar to Nigel in build, and seemed to be a fighter of similar caliber. Of course, there might have been some other criterion Fenris wasn't aware of. _Like so much else, even that ritual is a mystery to me._

"I should say so," Nigel said, and ducked low to evade a wide swing. "And I'm glad for it, too. I'd heard...terrible things about him. That he'd dabbled in...terrible magics."

"And your Mae?" Fenris asked, directing a particularly vicious strike in Nigel's direction. "Does she not..._dabble_?"

"No more than is necessary, in my opinion. For all her machinations, she uses the Sun. In her words, 'it's less messy'. It sounds flippant but I assure you it is genuine."

"You are incredibly naïve to think any Tevinter magister would eschew blood magic," Fenris said, and smacked Nigel with the flat of his blade.

He regretted that a moment later when Nigel took advantage of his momentum to knock him down, then stepped on his wrist to disarm him. _He's good, but he'd be no match for me if I'd used my markings._ The other elf raised his sleeve to reveal a rather large network of scars, most of which were knitted deep.

"I have seen the worst of it," he said solemnly, and helped Fenris up. "My old master's legacy. Nowhere near as striking as yours, I know, but enough to know that Mae is cut from a different cloth, and worthy of respect."

"And your love."

Nigel had a seat on one of the wooden benches by the sparring pit. "That, my friend, came long after, though it would seem you know a bit of that yourself."

"Althaea - Amelia - is not a mage."

"No, but regardless of what happened after, she still comes from the ranks of the oppressors. And that amulet you wear...that was crafted by blood magic, though it would seem of an older sort. What of that?"

"No slaves died to make it." _Maker. Would I have said that a year ago? Two?_

"Precisely my point, friend. Intent is what makes a tool into a weapon. Magic, wielded without the gravitas it deserves, is a viper that will strike the hand that makes it; that is what invites the unwanted attention from across the Veil. There are entire books on the subject, and several philosophers have written at length on the ethics of magic, though the Orlesian Chantry would prefer those were never published."

"The more violent the blood sacrifice, the more powerful the magic. What of that, Nigel?" He was getting irritated now. How could this elf, scarred by blood magic, be defending the use of it?

"Again, intent. Blood magic goes beyond the sacrifice. Used to generate mana, it's a perversion of purpose, and inherently evil. For things like your amulet, a small bit creates an anchor, a direct line to your lover. If you would open your eyes, you'd see that there are some legitimate uses for blood, and Mae has sworn herself to those uses only."

Fenris scoffed. "She is stronger than most."

"Which is the crux of things, then, I think," Nigel said. "Men like you and I, we are scarred, for better or for worse. We leave our experience thinking the world is made of black and white, but we must learn to walk the grey. It is...not an easy thing."

He sighed. "I learned to respect a mage, and then to love her. Mae has a unique point of view, one that keeps her from advancing along the ranks, here in Tevinter. Yet...she does what she can to affect the lives of those around her in a positive way. It is the best anyone can ask for." He reached a hand out. "Another round?"

_Why not? _He had much to think on, and fighting always seemed to grant a clarity of mind he couldn't find elsewhere.

Fenris raised his sword and mounted the attack.

* * *

It was quite late when he returned to the suite assigned them, having trained with Nigel most of the day. He was surprised to find that Althaea had already retired to the bedroom for the night. _It isn't that late, though I suppose it has been a rather emotional day_.

He ran a bath and soaked in the water for a while. He'd be in pain tomorrow for sure; Nigel had landed a few very good blows, and even dull blades could wreak havoc if wielded with enough skill. Nigel had offered to fetch the healer, but Fenris had refused. Far better to know if he had worked himself too hard in the morning than to have someone heal away the pain and overdo it again. Perhaps Althaea would help him massage the worst of it out in the morning; he trusted her hands more than he trusted any others.

He climbed into bed, exhausted, and brushed a stray lock of hair from Althaea's face. She twitched and shied away from his touch with a little moan. Tracks of tears made their way down her cheek, and it appeared she'd been tossing and turning for a while.

_Another nightmare, though this one seems to be worse than the rest._ He didn't blame her in the least. He'd had nightmares of his own, too, though last night seemed to be a reprieve; he'd expected the worst and had been pleasantly surprised by Mae's unconditional offer of help. At first he'd thought it was too good to be true, but Nigel's respect and fervent belief that she was indeed as different as she seemed might well prove enough to win him over.

Looking down at Althaea, he found he'd been hoping the same would happen for her. It didn't look to be the case, though it made sense. He might hate this city and almost everyone in it, from the Archon himself down to the lowliest, mewling slave, but he was a free man, here by choice. Unlike her, he had nothing to lose by being here. Her tenuous hold on freedom was at stake, and there was nowhere where it was more obvious than the estate of a magister, even a seemingly friendly one.

She let loose a sob in her sleep and rolled over. The sound of it broke his heart, and he tried to wake her with a gentle shake.

"No...please, no...I'll do anything...please," she said, but wouldn't wake. He tried two more times to no avail. She was well and truly trapped, then. It happened to him every so often, but never after that Seer had broken the gift of his drakon in two and charmed it.

He looked at the pieces of it resting on the nightstand, glittering with promise. The thing had been charmed with blood, he knew that now, though it had been Althaea's, given willingly if by a bit of surprise. If Mae's suspicions were right, the Fadebind was powered by him; but for that at least, he was no stranger to being used as a living battery.

Surprisingly enough though, the thing didn't hurt, not the way it had when Danarius had extracted whatever power he needed from him. He remembered Nigel's words: _we see the world in black and white, when we must learn to walk the gray._ The token had brought them together in the weeks she'd had to wear it at night. They'd shared dreams, memories, desires, and while he'd originally mistrusted the idea, he'd grown used to it. Well, he had, anyway, until he'd known the true origin of the charm in question. Then, suddenly, it had seemed a thing of evil, despite the good it had brought them. Even that, though, was suspect; he was certain only mages had the power to manipulate the Fade, and even that was limited to their own realms of sleep. True manipulation of the Fade belonged to Dreamers alone, and the newest of them was likely not skilled enough to do so for them.

Althaea fidgeted and cried out again. Fenris frowned; whatever she was experiencing could not be good.

_We must learn to walk the gray._ He reached for the amulets and put them on, watching her sleeping features morph, then let himself sink into sleep. _I'm coming, amara._.._I'm coming..._

"I'm coming." _That was fast._

He didn't recognize the place, though it felt warm and humid. He stood up and did an inventory of his person. Armor, pouches...sword. He rarely dreamt in full harness of late, and the thought that he might "need" it bothered him. What in the Void was she dreaming of?

A heart-rending cry split the air, trailing off into a weak set of sobs. He ran toward the noise to encounter a locked door. He jiggled the handle. _Kaffas._

"Why are you doing this? Please, you're hurting me. Please!" The cry devolved into another wail, and blue light flashed through the bottom of the door. He slammed himself up against it, shouting her name.

"Say it," said a male voice. "Say it, and I'll stop."

Sobs, and more blue light, another scream. Fenris tried to phase his hand through the locking mechanism, but the door rejected him; he reached back with a hiss. He sobbed against the door, powerless to do anything except listen.

"I'll be your slave! I'll be anything you want! Please, you're hurting me, it burns, it burns -" The cries weakened into choked, gurgling sobs, and he could hardly see through the tears in his eyes.

The light stopped, and the door shifted a bit. Fenris stepped out of the way and hid behind it as a man stepped out, wiping his hands with distaste and speaking to another man.

"Think she'll need another?"

"No, likely not, Master. Her compliance will be assured before the night is through, I'm certain of it."

"Good," said the first man. "See to it that she is patched up and in my bed tonight."

"Of course, Master."

The Master - _Is this what Septimus looks like? _- began to walk down the corridor. Fenris took the moment to shove him against the wall. "You dare!"

Septimus, or whatever denizen of the Fade was posing as him, simply laughed as Fenris reached through and killed him without another word. The other one, the presumed torturer, went down with even less of a fight.

She was on a stone table, though it looked more a bier from the way she lay, like a child's toy with all the stuffing ripped out of it. She was naked and bleeding from her nose and ears; when he stooped to pick her up, her arms hung limply off the shoulders. She moaned weakly.

_We need to get out of here._ He looked around for something to clothe her with, but couldn't find anything. A blast of cool wind ruffled his hair, and he thought he saw something on the edge of his vision; when he looked down, a soft robe had been placed next to her. She started to come to as he dressed her, and panicked until she realized who he was.

"Merry," she said, then shook her head. "No...Fenris. You came."

"I did." He let his breastplate clatter to the floor and draped her arms around his neck. She managed to cling to him, and he hoisted her up. She was so light, and tiny, like a little bird...

_...a little fox. _He chuckled at the name, knew she hated being likened to one, and yet, here it was. Then he walked to the door, eyeing it and wondering if stepping through would wake them.

_Here goes nothing._

He jerked awake and Althaea followed, panting. He sat up in the near-darkness as she sobbed against his chest.

"What was that?" he asked as she finally stilled against him.

"I...I don't want to talk about it," she said, burying herself even deeper into him, if that were possible.

He tilted her head up so he could see her face. It wasn't hers, but something about the eyes sparkled in the familiar way her true ones did. He removed her amulet and smiled as she slipped back to herself. "I don't think we can hide any more. Please, amara. I died in that room, listening to you."

"What did you hear?"

He cursed the lump in his throat, but managed to choke out a response. "Unspeakable things."

She was silent for a long while, curled up against him. "Remember the memory that came, the first night we spent together?"

"The party?"

She nodded. "That...this...happened not long after. A couple of weeks, maybe. I don't know what changed. At first...I don't know. He tried to take me to his bed. I thought it was a joke, and then...and then the breaking started in earnest."

"With magic."

"He had a lackey...another mage who was very good with...no, I can't talk about it. It hurt, but it rarely left a mark. It left me so weak, I couldn't resist his...his advances. Then not long after him, there were...there were...others. I went from a valued prize to his...his two-copper whore."

He held her more tightly. "But I'm not _your_ two-copper whore," she said, still half asleep it seemed.

That made him chuckle awkwardly, and she laughed as well. "No," he said. "As far as I'm concerned, you are a treasure beyond price."

"That's all that matters."

Silence, again, for a long while, as he listened to her breathing slow. "I killed him, in your dream. Or whatever it was that was posing as him."

"Good," she said. "I...I thought I could put it away, but I spent a lot of time thinking about it today, Fenris. I think he needs to die. I think I need to kill him. This dream...it only served to remind me of that."

"I'm sure it goes without saying, but when the time comes, I'll be at your side."

"I know," she said, and snuggled back into him.

"Do you think you can sleep again?" he asked. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd last after the day's training, and despite being languidly aroused, he definitely knew now was not the right time.

"Will you take me to the poppies?"

"I can certainly try." He put the amulet back on and lay down to sleep, concentrating on the smell of the poppies in that field, and praying - for one of the first times in his memory - that the effort would work.


	25. Floor Work

**A/N: **Short chapters as usual, but it has been crazy-busy here in OrielleD-land. Rest assured we will finally meet Phoebus very soon.

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - FLOOR WORK**

Althaea woke slowly, laying prone on the bed and swiveling her head over to survey the morning. Another night, another nightmare, and poor Fenris was running himself ragged attempting to mitigate the worst of it.

In sleep, he looked peaceful, though it was hard to ignore the dark circles underneath his eyes. And though he'd tanned a few shades darker in the bright autumn sunlight of the grounds, he still managed to look pale and drawn. Whatever he was doing to maintain his tenuous hold as her night shepherd hadn't been good for him in the least.

She frowned and sat up. It looked to be rather early, but she was decently rested even if he wasn't. She decided to let him sleep - Maker knew he needed it - and removed the drakon from his neck before getting out of bed.

Breakfast was an apple and cold oat porridge from the kitchen. The staff seemed mostly used to her ventures at this point; an entire lifetime in the South - southern Tevinter, southern Marches - seemed to have made her palate entirely unused to heavy, complicated Minrathous fare. And, once she'd assured Ramona the cook that no, she really did enjoy the food being prepared but yes, she did prefer to make her own, things had gone more smoothly.

"All the better," Ramona had said, in her mild Anders burr. "I never liked any of this stuff, anyway."

Morning meal eaten, she headed down to the gymnasium. It had been two weeks and word had finally come from the Sun in Qarinus; they were headed home, but would be a week in the traveling as they had to wind around the Nocen Sea rather than sailing across it. _Good thing I had three months,_ she thought. _And definitely good that I decided to get working while we were waiting on word from Phineas._

She went through her warm-up routine, pieced together from all the old lessons she'd learned both in Solas and Marnus Pell, then attempted a few basic contortions she had been capable of, at one point. Still no luck, but she was still perfectly capable of hanging and climbing, so at least there was that. She was working on a back bridge when she heard Nigel speak up from just out of her line of sight.

"Better than yesterday."

She let herself fall out of it, sighed, then eased into a saddle stretch instead. "This was much easier when I was seventeen."

"If you think it's bad now, wait until after thirty," he said, and laughed. "It seems I have to work twice as hard to stay half as fast."

"Well, whatever it is you're doing seems to be working," she said. "When you get moving, you're damn near impossible to see." And it was true; the only person she'd seen faster was Isabela, and it seemed Nigel always gave Fenris a run for his coin when she happened to catch them sparring.

"Would you like to learn?"

She hemmed and tried the back bridge again. _Better. _"I tried. It didn't end well."

"From Leto, or from someone else?"

"Leto, of course." The name still sounded a little odd on her tongue. She balanced herself out and tried to bring a hand closer to her foot. Damn it, she was going to need to be able to bend this way if she was going to be anywhere near flexible enough to get aerial. "Sorry, that probably sounded a little clipped."

"I took no offense. In any case, he's quite the swordsman, but I have to say his dagger work is lacking, and in my opinion it would behoove you to learn a few tricks at least. I know you don't have a lot of time, but all of the Sun are trained in basic combat."

"I'm a fair archer," she said. Which was true, even if she hadn't had a shot at the range since she boarded ship in Kirkwall.

"Unfortunately, though, carrying a bow whilst wearing a performance leotard is more than a little conspicuous."

"Point," she said, then relaxed a little deeper into the bridge before falling out of it. "Well, all right."

"Come on then," he said, and dragged her to the armory, where he handed her two practice daggers and took two of his own. They then went back to the gymnasium floor.

"Ready when you are," Nigel said. "Show me what you know." He lunged at her, catching her off her guard; she flailed in a mediocre attempt at a parry.

"You're holding back," she said, after a minute's worth of sparring.

"Yes, I am." He took another slice, whapping her with the flat of the dagger, then catching her in what would have been her spine if the blade had been a proper one. "As I said, your teacher's dagger work is lacking."

"It's probably just the student," Althaea said as she rubbed the side where he'd struck home. "He's been trying to teach me proper dagger work since we met."

"What's been stopping you?"

"I don't know." Her voice sounded hollow and a little petulant, even to her. "I've never been much of a fighter." She bent out of the way of another attack.

"And yet you are clearly possessed of speed and grace most roguish types would kill for."

"I suppose." She almost managed to land a blow, but missed in the last second.

"That was better," Nigel said. "You will likely never have the brute strength Leto is capable of, but he - and men like him - can often be outmaneuvered. He has reach, you have flexibility. Use it to get inside his range."

"I don't know how!" She was panting from the effort and clearly losing despite the fact that the elf was holding his blows. Nigel took notice of it and stopped, letting her sink to the floor and catch her breath.

"The exercises you were doing, where did you learn them?"

"I took dancing lessons when I was young," she said. It seemed sweat was commingled with tears on her cheeks. _Pathetic. Useless. _"I modified some of the floor exercises by combining them with what I learned when I was with Septimus."

Nigel made a thoughtful hum and paced for a little time. "What is battle to you, Amelia?"

She thought about it for a minute. "Frightening and usually unnecessary."

"You're quite the comedian."

"I was being honest."

"I see." He raised a hand to his chin. "Get up, and dance for me."

She was taken aback by the frank request, and summarily balked. "I'm sorry, _what_?"

"Dance for me. Not that terrible slave-dancing I know Septimus made you do, but the art form you learned as a child."

She was still a little leery of the request, but did so anyway, working her way through a series of passes and jumps she remembered.

"See?" he asked. "That, that right there is what I was trying to see. That was lovely, thank you." He crossed the gymnasium floor to her. "Now I ask you, what is battle, besides another kind of dance? Have you danced with a partner?"

"At one point, yes."

"Am I right in assuming you must mirror his every move, when you do?"

"It's usually choreographed that way."

"Well, battle is no different. Come on, let's give it another go, keeping that in mind."

They sparred for another time, Nigel yelling out bits of advice: _keep your center of gravity low_ and suchlike. There was no moment of sudden clarity, no quick improvement, but she did manage to catch him off his balance more than once, and hooked her leg around his to trip him.

"Oh, that's good!" he said, after he picked himself off the floor. "Honor has its time and place, but you should fight less like a warrior and more like your namesake."

"The cornered fox," she muttered, and watched as Nigel grinned from ear to ear.

"Precisely, and all the more so if you are well and truly against the wall...metaphorically speaking, of course."

She managed to trip him again, and he laughed. "Maybe try varying it just a little more. Here, let me sit for a minute or two, and we can have another go."

She lay on the flat of her back and stared at the ceiling. "Nigel?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are you from?" she asked, then backpedaled a little. "My apologies, that was rude. You don't have to tell me."

"I can forgive your curiosity," he said. "I grew up on Seheron, but I was brought to Minrathous when I was a very young man."

"Were you always a slave?"

He sighed. "No."

"Do you mind if I ask...how?"

He smirked. "I suppose that's something you would be curious about, wouldn't it?" He crossed his legs and leaned back on his wrists. "It's a fairly simple tale. My family were freemen in Alam, and we had a small sharehold where we grew and roasted java beans to sell to the magisters in Minrathous and beyond. But there was a Qunari attack, and we were defenseless - my first master offered his protection for our servitude, and my father accepted."

"It was either slavery under a magister, or slavery under the Qun." She was horrified at the thought of either.

"Just so," Nigel said. "Though if I had known how our master would use us, and if it had been my decision to make, I might have chosen the Qun. Then perhaps my family would be alive."

"How did they...?"

"Similar to your friend. What was his name?"

"Marius?"

"Yes, him. The young elf you dared to love. Only we learned that the magister we served had an unfortunate habit of making blood sacrifices out of slaves, whereas it would seem Marius was your father's first offense, and as much out of anger as desire to impress." He lifted his sleeve, exposing a network of scars to her. "I didn't go down easily, so he had me trained in weaponry and made me part of his personal guard."

"How did Mae get ahold of you?"

"My master made the unfortunate mistake of challenging her to a duel, which she won. He apparently thought she had less talent than she did. I'm sure you're familiar with the effects of a formal duel...?"

"You became her property, along with everything else?"

"That's how she acquired this mansion. Needless to say, there was a large clean-up job ahead. At first, I was grateful for my life, and when it became apparent she was a...unique...woman among magisters, I offered her my service as a personal guard. Her husband had just died, and I thought she could use the extra protection."

"She offered to free you."

"She offered to free all of us, and a goodly number took the deal. I didn't."

"Why?"

He smiled. "I was a freeman in all but name. Can you call something a cage if it truly isn't?"

"I suppose not."

"Truth be told, I was intrigued by this woman and her foreign ways. I wanted to see if she was truly as different as she seemed."

"And she was?"

"Oh, Maker, yes. She had integrity and bravery unlike anything I've ever seen, beauty too. But despite all of it, she was humble, and liked to get into the thick of things rather than letting her slaves do things for her."

She rolled over onto her belly, supporting her weight on her elbows, and stretched a little. "When do you think you fell in love with her?"

He laughed, a rich sound that echoed off the walls of the empty gymnasium. "I can't say there was any one moment in which I realized it, but one day I took a leap of faith, and it didn't go unrewarded."

"That's so romantic," Althaea sighed. Nigel laughed again.

"And your Leto? I imagine he was a tough nut to crack. He's a very solemn man."

"He can be, but I don't blame him. I sometimes think my life before Kirkwall was hard, but I don't think anything compares to what he went through. It would have killed me."

"It would have killed many, and it might have. There had to have been prototypes for the kind of magic Danarius worked on him." He shrugged. "But you seem to have softened him a little, and for the better. As I told him, our experiences make it hard to see the world in shades of gray, and it makes us blind."

"You're very wise, Nigel."

"I wouldn't say that I'm wise, just observant." He got up and gestured for her to do the same. "Shall we dance?"


	26. Dinner with Professor Rabbit

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: DINNER WITH PROFESSOR RABBIT**

Several hours later, Althaea arrived back in her room, sweaty and thoroughly beaten up, but feeling rather accomplished. She poked her head into the bedroom, where a lump of blankets indicated that Fenris was still sleeping. _Maker._ _He must be very tired indeed._ She ran a bath and soaked in a salt mixture she'd gotten from the house herbwife. It soothed her aching muscles and left her feeling much better than she had going in. She draped her dressing gown around herself, went back to where Fenris was sleeping, and had a seat next to his prone form.

She brushed a few stray hairs out of his eyes, and he mumbled a little in his sleep, though she couldn't tell what he was saying. She leaned down to caress his face and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"Rise and shine, love."

He groaned and buried his head further into the pillow. "It's too early."

"You've been asleep for almost sixteen hours."

He rolled over abruptly and regarded her with an appraising, if sleepy, eye. "It doesn't feel that way." He reached an arm up and pulled her down into the sheets. "You smell good."

"You wouldn't have said that half an hour ago," she said. "I just bathed."

"How long have you been awake?"

"A few hours. I went down to the gymnasium for some floor work, but Nigel had other ideas."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Sparring?"

She nodded. "I'm still not very good at it, but I learned a few tricks." She snuggled in a little closer, and she could feel him smiling into her hair. "Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I don't want you to worry about me."

"That's impossible," she said. "You're running yourself ragged and it's killing me to see you like this. I don't think we should do this anymore. Let me sort out my own dreams."

She felt, rather than saw him frown. "Your nightmares, you mean."

"Semantics." She wriggled her way up so she could look him in the eye. "Tercia says there's a tea I can drink for a deep and dreamless sleep. I think I may try it. I can't bear to see you so drained."

"I've lived through worse."

Althaea didn't know what the worst part of that statement was: whether he had actually lived through worse, or that he seemed to be so cavalier about it. "I will not let you suffer for my sake, Fenris," she said. "You're running yourself ragged and the bags under your eyes could carry my groceries home. I can't abide it - the amulet stays off at night, or Maker help me, I will force-feed you that tea myself."

He sighed, defeated. "As you wish."

There was a knock on the door, and Althaea got up to answer it; Samara stood at the entry with a smile. "Mae meant to come by, but she was caught up in a few house matters, so here's a message for you." Upon seeing a mussy-haired Fenris emerge from the bedroom, she added: "May I fetch breakfast for Messere Leto?"

"Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you." Samara curtsied and left, and Althaea sliced the envelope open to read Mae's message:

_Amelia:_

_Professor Phoebus Demitridis of the thaumaturgical college at the University of Minrathous has accepted my invitation to tonight's evening meal. I am inviting you as well, seeing as the two of you have so much in common. Please bring yourself, your appetite, and your best Fereldan accent, and keep in mind that we must observe traditional social conventions until we can confirm that he can be trusted._

_I look forward to your presence tonight - M_

Fenris stretched and raised an eyebrow as she brought the message down. She handed it over and waited a moment as he had a look; it took him a bit longer as he still had to subvocalize to ensure he was getting all the words right.

"Traditional social conventions," he muttered, shaking his head. "I take it that means I'm not invited."

She frowned, knowing he wouldn't be happy about that. "For what it's worth, I'm fairly certain Nigel isn't invited, either."

He sighed. "Small comfort."

Althaea embraced him with a murmured "I'm sorry." He sighed again.

"I can't blame you for the social conventions," he said. "I only wish I could have a meal with you without worrying about causing unwanted attention."

It was Althaea's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Do you mean to say you wish you were human?"

"I mean to say I wish we could do the things normal people do, and that I could give you everything you deserve. And...being human wouldn't hurt that wish."

She pulled away and looked him in the eye. "I have never once wished you were human, Fenris, and I have never once wished you didn't have these." She brushed her finger along the markings on his chin, silencing the beginnings of his protest. "I love you as you are, and we might never have met without them."

He seemed to deflate, and one corner of his mouth turned up into a bittersweet smile. "I suppose you're right."

She giggled, breaking the tension. "For once!"

He smirked. "For once."

She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him; he returned it with enthusiasm. "I'm going to go and get properly dressed. Samara is bringing you breakfast."

* * *

"I'm sorry, you did _what?_"

"I told him you were a lay professor from the Fereldan Circle of Magi."

Althaea stopped in the middle of the marbled hallway, though her flowing skirts didn't exactly get the order. She smoothed them down in frustration and eyed Maevaris with a baleful stare. "You couldn't have picked another area of the Imperium for me to be from?"

"No, dear. It's not meant as an offense to you, but all that time you've spent away from here has marked your speech."

"You mean to say I've lost my accent."

"Precisely."

_I don't belong to Tevinter, I don't belong to Kirkwall, and I'm certainly no Fereldan. Do I even have a home, anymore?_ She kept pace with Mae as the magister began to walk again, and placed a pensive hand against her chin. _Of course I do. Anywhere Fenris is, is home. _

As they continued walking, she summoned up what little she remembered of Galatea's clipped accent, the shortened vowels that Ferelden had lent her; she shaped her mouth into the required conformations and practiced a little under her breath. By the time they reached the great dining hall, she was relatively confident that she could fool anyone in the Imperium who hadn't actually ever been there. Everything else would have to come from her own memory banks, however. What was her area of study? Could she really pass as a proper professor? Maker's sake, she was an archivist, but she'd never lectured!

Well, no, she'd never lectured properly, but she _had_ been in charge of teaching a small army of Circle apprentices in proper Arcanum and old Tevene. Surely that had to be something. Linguistics. Yes! That was the answer. Linguistics and thaumaturgy, with perhaps just a sprinkling of Adrallan philosophy on top. She _had_ fled Tevinter for Ferelden, after all. It made sense.

Nigel opened the door for her with a mischievous wink. "Professor Demitridis has already arrived, Mistress."

And there he was: so different than he'd looked last time she'd seen him, but then she had been scarcely into her teens, and he'd been a newly minted adjunct. And before that, the last time she'd seen him was when she was eight; he'd just been relegated to Minrathous. She remembered wondering what would happen to her when she came of age, if being shipped away was what had happened to the only other non-mage in the family.

She remembered a great deal of good times with him. She'd been so young when he'd left, but they'd exchanged letters every week; she thought of the last of the ones she'd received, right before Marius had died, and where she kept them in her room: a little heartwood chest that she stowed under the bed. Resisting the urge to run up to him in their customary Bear hug was torture, and she'd nearly taken two steps forward before Mae's voice snapped her out of it.

"Professor Demitridis, a pleasure to finally meet you," she said, in a high, pleasant voice.

Phoebus was unfazed; he kept his voice low and even as he bowed to her, then shook her hand. "The pleasure is all mine, Magister Tilani."

"Maevaris is fine, thank you. And may I present Professor Amelia Fox; she's the one I told you about."

His face lit up, but not in the way she remembered seeing; it occurred to her that she'd never seen or interacted with him in this way. She must tread lightly, or risk defaulting to her usual, more intimate manner of speech. "Er, adjunct professor, actually."

"I figured as much," he said, with a bit of laughter. "You're perhaps a little young for full tenure."

"I'd also have to move to Orlais, and you'll forgive my saying so, but it is a country not to my taste." She made sure to put some of her syntax in the wrong places; after all, she could know Arcanum by the books, but never make actual use of it in that old bastion of freedom from the Imperium.

Nigel directed the setting of the tables and pulled chairs out of the corner of the great table for the three of them. "May I ask your area of study?" he said, as things began to slow down a bit.

"Well, I have varied interests, but I've mainly concerned myself with translating some of the older arcana present in the Circle library." She lowered her voice. _Let's test the waters. _"We have a fair amount of Adralla's original texts, well-preserved, though I've taken care not to mention that overmuch."

His eyes grew wide, though it seemed the expression was from curiosity and not from having taken offense. _Good._ "I'd heard that she'd taken shelter in the Circle at Ferelden. You truly mean to say she left a full account of her teachings?"

"Yes," Althaea said. _I'll neglect to mention that almost all of them are now the property of the Chantry, but he doesn't know that. _"Most of them are written in the common tongue, but some of the more...abstract concepts she proposed had to be written in Tevene. She hadn't the proper vocabulary, you see." _And the Templars all seem to have a copy of the Litany, at least in Kirkwall these days._

"Fascinating!"

Dinner continued, an array of complicated dishes served in tiny bites; Ramona had clearly pulled out all the stops for the evening's meal. They made small talk, and Althaea was careful not to reveal too much that she might forget later; though more and more, she had the feeling that the Phoebus in front of her was just the same as he'd always been: a little flighty, but extremely intelligent.

"How is it like, living in the Circle? I hear it's a terrible place for mages. Are you treated any better?"

"Yes, I am, though things are not so bad in Ferelden as they are in say, Orlais, or the Free Marches where the apprentices are kept leashed, like dogs."

"And the weather? I hear it's dreadfully cold."

"Funny, I feel it's dreadfully warm here." _Now's my chance._ "Though I suppose it's better than the alternative; in the wintertime we have a bit of a...rodent...problem."

Phoebus was clearly confused by the statement. "Rodents?"

"Mmm, yes," she said, as she had a sip of her dessert wine, "Squirrels and rabbits, mainly."

A bit of suspicion began to dawn in his face; Althaea latched on to it as tightly as she could. "Though I simply can't _bear_ to give you all the details; they can be quite messy."

"Well, I know that dinner is done and you have plenty of work to do, but I'd love to continue this conversation in my quarters. You're aware I am a guest of the esteemed Magister, are you not?"

"I am," he said, "And yes, I should be happy to, but I'll not _badger_ you for permission to do so."

"It's no trouble, really," she said. "Unless the Magister minds, that is."

"No trouble at all," said Mae. "I do have some matters I can attend to, even at this hour, and it seems you have struck up quite the rapport!"

Althaea got up and handed her napkin to Samara, who curtsied and winked. "Lovely! Please, come with me."


	27. The Hare and the Wolf

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - THE HARE AND THE WOLF**

Fenris paced the halls of the Green Suite. It had been two hours already, and still no sign or word from Althaea. He hoped that was a good sign.

Logically, he knew that it wasn't just Tevinter societal conventions holding him in check; if this Phoebus character wasn't a trustworthy person, his presence might tear Althaea's thin ruse to pieces. Even so, he found himself seething at the idea of being shelved. Was it because he longed for inclusion? No. It was because here in this blasted land, they'd run into one of the only things he couldn't shield her from. His sword was almost useless here and his markings were even more so, if not downright dangerous. She was well and truly on her own, and the prospect of being so out of control terrified him.

He knew better. Althaea was cultured and intelligent, but somewhere inside her the cornered fox Sebastian jested about still lived; that part of her had gotten her from the north coast to the south, with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a stolen weapon. She preferred not to speak of it, he knew, but it was still there, and here in Minrathous it threatened to bubble back up to the surface.

He nursed the bottle of wine he'd nicked from the cellar when he'd realized the dinner plans probably meant he'd have an evening to himself, and waited.

And waited. Finally, the handle to the suite turned, and Althaea stepped in the door, with a man of middling height.

If Fenris hadn't known any better, he'd have assumed it was a twin of some sort walking in beside her: he was scaled up and male, but other than that appeared to be a slightly older, slightly taller copy of her. The family resemblance was astounding.

The man - Phoebus, he assumed - stopped in his tracks at the sight of him; even in the dim candlelight of the room, he was sure he looked fairly intimidating.

He draped his dinner jacket over a coat hook. Althaea removed the amulet, showing him her true face; he paled considerably, but smiled. "Squirrel."

"Hello, rabbit."

Then, it was as if Fenris wasn't there; he embraced her, and tears rolled down from his eyes as he said, "You're alive!"

Her delighted laugh was muffled by his chest. Suddenly, Fenris felt as if he were intruding on something sacred, but just as he turned to leave the room, Althaea broke away from her brother and turned toward him. "Rabbit, it's my pleasure to introduce Fenris. Love, this is my brother, Phoebus."

Fenris stepped forward and put as much of his intimidating stare away as possible, schooled his features into as warm a smile as he could manage, and tried to remember the common pleasantries. "It's very nice to finally meet you."

"I...I think I've seen you before," Phoebus stammered as he accepted Fenris's proffered hand and pumped it up and down in a hearty shake.

"You may well have," he said. "My ex-master frequented the University as a guest lecturer."

"I do remember you, then. Please, accept my apologies on his behalf."

"He paid for his hubris," Fenris said. From what he knew of Phoebus, he gathered that the man truly did mean well by what he said, and the fact that the brother made no mention of his race or markings spoke well for him. A grudging sort of respect for the man crept in, and he changed the subject. "Shall we sit? We have wine and spirits here."

Althaea began to head for the sideboard, but Fenris stopped her with a gentle hand and a smile. _Smile, _he reminded himself. _If you were human this wouldn't be an act of servitude but a common kindness._ "Wine for you, amara?"

She nodded, and Phoebus made a small shrug and a smile. "I wouldn't mind something stronger."

"There's a fine brandy in here, and I think we have some ice left." _Yes, keep using the magical We. This is as much your temporary home as it is hers._

"That'd be perfect."

As he prepared drinks for the two, they sat across from each other on the thick plush couches in the sitting room and began to speak quietly.

"I'm so sorry," Phoebus said.

"What do you mean, rabbit?"

"If I had been there, I might have been able to stop him from...from..." he stumbled. "You know."

"You were busy with work, rabbit, too busy to have been home when it happened. I know that. And anyone else could have stood up for me."

"Mother never said anything?"

"Mother never cared a fig for either of us, and you know it, Phoebus." She sighed. "But I'm going to stop talking about that. It's not why I wanted to see you again. Do you go home often?"

Fenris crossed back over with the drinks, then took a place on the couch next to Althaea. She frowned at the distance, and closed it, draping one of his arms around her shoulder as she waited for Phoebus to answer. The thought of it warmed him; she was unapologetic of having taken an elf and a former slave as a lover, even among her family.

Phoebus raised his glass to Fenris with a nod of thanks, and had a long swig of it before answering. "More often since Mother passed."

If Fenris had been expecting her to show any sort of grief at the news, he would have been disappointed. "When did that happen?"

"Two years ago, now. Father invited me to the Spire for supper at the funeral, and we've been speaking ever since."

"Is it nice to be the favorite again?"

Phoebus laughed. "I'm far from the favorite, sister."

"Nonsense," she said. "I think Father always regretted that you couldn't be his heir. Gaius is smart and talented...but he's not you."

"You were always his little peach," he said.

"And yet I was still to be packed up and shipped off to Antiva." She added a thoughtful pause, and shifted a little next to him. "Though I suppose the match was Mother's idea, wasn't it. How is everyone else?"

"Gaius is doing well. He's finally started putting on some weight. Draco made First Enchanter last year, though he's sure it's less his talents and more his name that got him the title."

Althaea laughed. It was probably true. "And the girls? How do they fare?"

"Well, Alexia married her Master and is expecting her first child by the spring. And, I don't know if you know this or not, but you now have three nephews and a niece from Victoria."

Althaea smiled, a bittersweet expression; she'd likely never meet them, and they would certainly never know her name. "Are they as beautiful as she is?"

"Yes, but the little girl - Ainsleigh - is a hellion." He laughed. "A cute one." Althaea laughed too.

Fenris listened as they continued to talk of superficial things, the kind of things, he supposed, that a brother and sister might catch up on after a long time apart from one another. He wasn't sure if he should have frowned or smiled, watching the interaction, and wondered if this is what things might have been like if he'd had a proper chance to sit down and actually speak with his sister. Danarius had stripped him of that, and it pained him, almost as much as it made him glad Althaea was getting the chance.

"And you, rabbit? Is there a special someone in your life?" In response, Phoebus turned a very bright shade of pink.

"You could say that," he said, carefully.

"Details, please," she said, nudging his knee with a toe.

"Breathe a word of this outside these walls, squirrel, and I'll have your head."

"I solemnly swear I won't tell anyone about your little secret. Not that I am on speaking terms with anyone that would care."

Phoebus sighed. "His name is Alexander...he's an adjunct, very bright. Your age."

"Robbing the cradle, Phoebus!" She turned to Fenris. "Dear Rabbit is eleven years my senior."

Fenris shrugged. "I could very well be far older than you," he said. "I don't remember my nameday." She harrumphed.

"You don't remember your nameday?" Phoebus asked.

He shook his head and did his best to state the truth as matter-of-factly as he could. "The ritual that created me stripped me of all my memories, though it appears my knowledge was left intact." He paused to think, and then decided to add the next phrase, anyway. "I do believe Danarius lectured on that effect a few times."

Phoebus frowned. "I remember. You'll forgive my saying so but the man was a very special brand of nefarious."

It was Fenris's turn to laugh; never would he have thought either of these two Demitridis siblings would be so outspoken against magic of the kind that had created him, even if they both seemed to have a terminal obsession with the study of arcana. He thought for a second that he must be making progress if he could think of his old master with an emotion other than commingled fear and disgust.

They spoke a little longer, and Fenris felt less awkward now that he knew he was welcome to partake in the conversation. But then, it seemed, Althaea got serious. "How is Father?" she asked. "We...we haven't talked about him yet."

"No, we haven't, have we?" He sat forward on the sofa, then got up and gestured with his empty brandy glass. "I'm going to need another one of these before we start on that. More wine?"

"Thank you," she said, handing him her glass. He turned toward Fenris. "Anything for you, while I'm up?"

Fenris cocked a smile. _See, Fenris? _he said to himself. _A common courtesy._ "I'll have another of whatever you make for yourself." Phoebus nodded and headed toward the sideboard.

"Thank you," she said to him, quietly enough that her brother's human ears would never hear.

"For?"

"I don't know how best to say it," she said. "For...I don't know. Being cordial with Phoebus. For being considerate. For trusting me."

"You're welcome," he said, and pulled her closer. Phoebus returned and set the drink tray on the table. They reached for their glasses.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any to propose a toast," Phoebus said. He raised his glass and Fenris and Althaea followed suit.

"To family," he said." Their glasses clinked. "And now, to less pleasant things, little squirrel."

She gathered her legs up and sat on the couch with them crossed in front of her. "How is he?" she finally asked.

Phoebus had a large drink of his brandy and thought for a moment. "Tired, mostly. Overworked. Less interested in gaining power rather than maintaining the hold he has over the Senate, I think. I don't know."

"This is very important, rabbit. Do you know if the Orlesian Chantry sent him a message? Regarding me?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't think so. He's never said anything about it to me, but...I'm not entirely sure he trusts me yet. Why?"

"I'm trying my hardest to stay dead," she said. "Him knowing I was alive would definitely be counterproductive to my task."

"I'd been meaning to ask why you were here. It's not that I'm not glad to see you, but your presence seems stupid and downright dangerous."

"Well, the long story short is that I'm here to steal a slave."

Phoebus laughed, a short bark that greatly amused Fenris. "You would!" he said, then paused. "Wait. Which one?"

"Cora," she said. "Marius's mother. I know you didn't know her, but we were very close."

"You're going to have a hard time doing that, I think. She's among Father's favorites; he'll notice if she's gone missing rather quickly."

"Which is precisely why I'm going to need your help, dear rabbit."

He leaned back, amused, and raised his hands in defeat. "Even when you were seven you were getting me in trouble. So what is it I can do for you?"

"I've only been to the Argent Spire once. I could use help knowing how things work, where they are. I have a way in for myself..."

"And I have none," Fenris interrupted.

"I can look into things on that end, Fenris, but I do have to warn you that word of your continued existence has met his ear." The professor shifted uncomfortably in his seat and would not meet his eyes. "He's expressed an unhealthy amount of interest in the technique that created you."

Fenris turned to Althaea, who'd blanched significantly at that piece of news. She shook her head at him. "I don't want him to take you. I won't let you risk it. Do I have your word?"

Now he felt he was well and truly trapped. Althaea's father knew of his existence, though it seemed he wasn't aware of the exact nature of their relationship, or even that his daughter was connected to him in such a way. If he were to do something stupid in the name of helping Althaea out, he could find himself the Archon's prisoner and a simple act of stealthy kidnapping would have to turn into a rescue mission.

He loved Althaea, but a warrior she was not, and jumping into the bowels of the Argent Spire would prove a death sentence for her. Not many non-mages could go up against a fully-realized magister and win the day, and the Archon was a particularly deadly exception.

_Give her a son, make her your wife_, the Seer's words echoed in his mind. If he let his need to solve her problems win over his better judgment, he would accomplish neither. He sighed, having come to a decision. "You have my word."

She relaxed visibly, and patted his thigh as she got up. "I'm going to change out of this ridiculous dress," she said. "Rabbit, will you be staying with us tonight? We have a spare room."

"I think that would be a good idea," he said. "It's rather late for a carriage back to the university, and the assumption was that I was, uh...on a social call to the Magister."

Fenris raised an eyebrow and smirked. Phoebus shrugged. "My relationship with Alexander presents a few improprieties in regards to fraternization at the university, so I'd rather people thought I was carrying on with someone more...appropriate."

"I'll turn back the covers and set some sleeping clothes out for you, then," she said, and squeezed his shoulder affectionately.

"Can you not just ring one of the slaves?" Fenris rankled, but said nothing, instead waiting to see what Althaea would say to that.

"They call themselves the serving staff, rabbit, and they're off for the evening at ten." Phoebus looked befuddled, but said nothing. "I'll be back in a few minutes." She traipsed off to the bedroom, leaving Fenris and Phoebus alone.

"So..." Phoebus started awkwardly, "how did you and my sister meet?"

Fenris smiled at the memories the question brought up; from his initial annoyance, their trip home gone horribly wrong, their first heated kiss in the rain, the first night they'd spent together. Phoebus's face warmed upon seeing his head work. "We met through a mutual friend, one that contracted my services as a guard for her on a trip." Phoebus was looking at him with a face that quite clearly said _go on_, so he did. "We had a lot in common, so we continued to meet after the fact, and the rest, as they say, is history."

Phoebus said nothing, but continued to smile. "I'm going to marry her," he said, softly, and the professor's face grew even warmer.

"You seem a good man," he said, "And I'll count myself lucky to call you my brother-in-law, when it happens."

They were both silent for a bit, and Fenris finally broke it. "She tells me you were the only one among her siblings to retain a semblance of humanity."

"It might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it could be true; I always leaned on the conventional side and thus rarely earned our father's ire. We were always close, though, she and I."

"Is it because neither of you were mages?"

"I believe that's part of it," Phoebus said. "The other part was that Father seemed to favor us despite it. That always seemed to bother Mother, but I never really noticed it until recently."

More silence. "Brother," Phoebus said. "Will you make me a promise?"

"I'll do my best," Fenris said. It was noncommittal, but without knowing what he was being asked to do, he wouldn't give a yes or no.

"Be good to her. She deserves more than her lot in life." _What? Am I not good enough for her? _he thought, but it was interrupted. "You seem to have been her only good fortune."

If the only experience he'd had of the Demitridis name had been Phoebus and Althaea, he might have thought differently of them. That was not the case, but it seemed her compassion had been learned, at least in part, by this unassuming, unattractive professor. "And she seems to have been mine," he said. "I will do what you ask."

"I'm glad for it," Phoebus said. "We may never see each other again - it's too dangerous to continue, even with correspondence - but I will rest easily knowing that she is free and married to someone she loves, someone that loves her back. Someone that isn't committed to her dowry."

_No pressure,_ _just give her everything, _he thought. _Who am I kidding? I'd put myself to the sword to spare her life. If that isn't everything, I'm an Antivan Crow._

Althaea came back, this time with the rest of the brandy, and snuggled against him again. His heart swelled with emotion; here he was, in the heart of the Imperium, having the "take care of her or I'll kill you" talk with the loving brother of his future wife. It was something so mundane, so pedestrian, and yet so...out of place. Regardless, it filled him with a happiness he never thought he'd touch.

Normalcy of this kind was something he never thought he could afford, even if it was just a lull between one ill-advised adventure and another.

"Let's play 'Old Mage'," Althaea said, pulling a deck of cards from a drawer near her.

Phoebus smiled and took a pull from the brandy bottle, with a devious grin on his face. "Just like old times," he said. "I'm going to beat you into next week."

"Like hell you will," she said, and started to deal the first hand of what would be many.

**A/N:** you guys, my yard ate last week's update, so I'm really sorry about that. Have a few thousand words, yeah?

(teaser) Stay tuned for my next chapters, which include: "Dress Rehearsal", "Sins of the Father", and "The Seventh Terminus". (/teaser)


	28. Dress Rehearsal

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - DRESS REHEARSAL**

Althaea looked in the mirror, and barely recognized the woman standing in front of it. She could hardly believe how quickly the time had gone by; the Feast of the Eternal Flame was a scant three days away. She'd trained with the Sun for hours on end, and the rest of her time had been spent devouring Mae's collection of special arcana; books lay helter-skelter across the room, evidence of the urgency which she'd given her task.

_By this time next year I'll have forgotten more about forbidden countermagics than most enchanters outside of the Imperium will ever learn. _There were a few pieces she did make careful note of, techniques that she imagined had been the basis for Templar training, at one point; these had been in Mae's office under lock and key, so dangerous were they to have. She hadn't been sure she could work any of the methods described, and hadn't had the courage to ask Mae to be the mage she tried them on, so the knowledge had remained purely theoretical.

She sighed, and divested herself of her training garment, a leotard that reminded her of her dancing lessons, a lifetime ago. Three days. In three days she'd be wearing the silks the Archon was providing the Sun for their performance, a suit of flashy orange and black; the flames of it clashed terribly with the copper of her stolen hair.

She looked in the mirror again. Maker, it had been ages since she'd been in this kind of shape. The weeks of training had stripped the academic puppy fat from her frame and replaced it with lean, sinuous cords of muscle. The only downside seemed to be that her already small breasts had become, for all intents and purposes, nonexistent. She turned around, eyed her backside, and smiled. _Silver linings. _

When she took her eyes away from her reflection, she found herself face-to-chest with Fenris. She yelped in surprise and backed into the mirror, which would have fallen to the floor and smashed to bits without his timely intervention.

She wondered if the indignation she was feeling had translated properly, because he simply grinned and said, "hello." The indignation melted into something else entirely as his eyes roamed up and down the planes of her naked body; she felt a little exposed.

"You caught me inspecting myself," she laughed, and he met that with an appreciative little hum.

"Do you like what you see?" he asked, his tone both genuinely inquisitive and a little coy.

"It depends," she said. She'd always secretly despaired of her Maker-given physique. It was small and slight and, given her propensity for wearing clothing suitable for athletic activity in her youth, she'd very often been mistaken for a boy. The marked differences between her own development and her twin sister Alexia's had only exaggerated the issue; while the elder had blossomed into a curvaceous woman, Althaea had remained awkward and stick-thin, with narrow hips and knobbly knees. The teasing had never ended, not really, and she remembered how Marius had been a sort of island from the incessant jibes. Even the Cuervo boy she'd been dowried to before...before everything...seemed to have disapproved. He had, that is, until she'd nocked an arrow and shot an apple out of his hand. After that, they'd reached an understanding: _don't make fun of me, and I won't 'miss'._

Fenris interrupted her thoughts by reaching down and cupping one of her buttocks, exhaling with a possessive growl from the back of his throat. "Regardless," he said, "I approve wholeheartedly." He crushed her to him and leaned in for a kiss; she stood on her toes to help him out a bit. _You tall, tall man, why must you be so...hmm. _He tasted, as he always did, of spice and juniper, heady and sweet, and she let the world around her pale away.

He pulled out of the kiss with a smile, leading her to the bed, and she remembered what she was going to do before she had been so rudely interrupted. "Oh, no," she said. "I was going to bathe, love - I've been training all day."

"As have I," he said, sitting on the bed and pulling her astride him. She realized that she hadn't noticed, but he was glistening with a sheen of sweat as well, a little newer than her own. The smell of it clung to him, strong, but not entirely unpleasant. It was an earthy smell, a deep one. She laughed as she thought about whether another person might think the same, and he frowned.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she said, and giggled. His adorably confused face made her titter turn into a genuine laugh, and she pushed him down into the sheets.

"You're getting stronger," he said with an astonished little laugh.

"I think you failed to notice the kind of athleticism required of my performance, love."

He ran his hands from her shoulders to her thighs, then shook his head. "On the contrary, I noticed it on a regular basis...I've just never mentioned how _often_ I've noticed it."

That caught her by surprise. "Have I been distracting you from your training all this time?"

"Absolutely you have," he purred. "Certainly you didn't think Nigel was besting me so often, did you?" He ran his fingers through her freshly shorn hair, stopping to knead at the nape of her neck, and she stretched into his touch.

He pulled her in close to him and held her there, and she listened to the placid beating of his heart. He was silent for a while, as if gathering his thoughts, and the levity of the moment seemed to wash away with one slow sigh. "You leave tomorrow," he said, softly.

She knew this was one of his regrets, this inability to follow her into the Spire. She knew she'd trapped him by binding him to an oath that he would remain here while she went about the business of stealing her mamae from her father's hands. In reality, she was just as trapped by that oath as he; she was terrified that there would be a moment in which she would need his sword and turn to find that it wasn't there. But there were two things she couldn't risk at this moment - losing Cora, and losing him.

"I'll be fine," she said, and though she meant for it to sound confident, her voice quavered and shook. "I'll wear my amulet the entire time, and you'll see me every night...there are only three."

Three more nights. In three more nights she'd be spiriting her mamae from the Spire; in four, she'd be on the fastest ship to Kirkwall, or Llomerryn again if she'd have to go that way. "We'll be a family again after this, you know." She wondered how he'd fare under the ministrations of a doting mother; Cora would fuss and cluck over him, would fret over the state of his clothes and constantly tell him he wasn't eating enough. _She might even wonder when she'd be getting a grandchild to spoil_, she thought with a smile.

She reminded herself never to let Cora and Leandra in the same room together. That'd be an unholy union indeed, and she shuddered at the thought.

"Family," he muttered, the ghost of a smile playing across his face. "I...must admit, I've thought about what that might be like." he shifted a little in the bed. "I've seen little bits, here and there, and pieced together a vision of it."

"Will you tell me?" she asked.

"The first I saw was of Hawke and his sister, Bethany. He cared for her in a way I never thought one person could care for another, with no reservations, no strings attached. He would have given the world for her, and he wasn't himself for a long time after she passed." He shifted around a bit. "I saw how Leandra took care of him, and how she took care of you, and I often wondered if those were the kinds of things my mother did for me. Maker," he said, "I'm not even sure I was loved as a child -"

Althaea scoffed. "Don't be daft. Of course you were. You said yourself you retained your knowledge, if not your memories. How else could you have learned to love?"

He sighed. "I don't know, I -"

"It doesn't matter, even if you weren't. You _are_ loved, Fenris, here and now. You'd have to be blind not to see it." She clasped his hand and held it to her heart, and mumbled, "besides, it's in your name."

"My...wait. What?"

"Leto," she said. "In the old Tevene, it's a word that translates to 'joy' or 'good fortune'. Don't you think your mother knew that, when she named you?"

"I..." he stopped, his mouth opening and closing as if he were searching for the right thing to say, "I don't know."

"I think she did," she said. "And...it's the name I would like to give our son. Our joy. Our good fortune."

He let out an astonished little chuckle. "And he would be loved, wouldn't he?"

"Yes, my heart. He would be loved."

Fenris took a deep breath; when he let it out, it came in a slow shudder. He smiled. "It's a good name."

"If you want to keep it for yourself..."

"No," he said. "I tried being Leto. They still use it, but...it doesn't feel right - I think I will always be Fenris. But if we give it to our son, it would be...appropriate, I think." Silence, for a little while. "I imagine he might become who I would have been, were I not so tainted by my experience."

"Do you think of him?"

"Every day. I think of him, and I fear for him, and I love him, and he isn't here...he isn't even a quickening in your womb."

_No, not yet,_ she thought. _I still drink my tea at night._ "You fear for him?"

He nodded. "The lyrium in my blood," he said. "It permeates everything. I feel it everywhere. What if it's in my seed? What if I've poisoned him before he's even taken root? I...I can't imagine living, knowing that I was the one who poisoned my son. What if - what if it makes him a mage?"

"You wouldn't love him if he were a mage?"

It was his turn to scoff, now. "Maker, Althaea. I'd love our son if he was the Archdemon himself. I just - "

"Lyrium or no lyrium, love, the chances are high he would be one anyway. Your sister is a mage. My father, my mother, all but one of my siblings are mages. The odds are against us in that regard."

"Who will teach him?"

"I don't know," she said. "Perhaps, by then, the Circle will be a place to learn control and thrive by using it. I do know that you'll be the one to teach him the strength of spirit necessary to tame his demon, if he has one."

"Truly?"

"Truly." _Enough of this talk_. She straddled him and began to kiss along his jawline and up to his ear, making him shudder in pleasure. "He will be beautiful, he will be strong, and I want to meet him very soon."

"When the time comes, amara, I will only be too happy to oblige."

_Good,_ she thought, and helped him put his anxiety to rest on this, the eve of her departure.

* * *

"One more time, from the top," Phineas called from the floor. Althaea and the two other Suns in the silks climbed back up to their neutral start position. The small practice quartet readied their instruments for another go, and the dancers on the floor moved back to where the rest of the stage would soon be complete.

She smiled as she folded a small seat for herself out of the long bolt of fabric hung from the rafters of the Spire. The principal performer, a young elven woman possessed of incredible grace and strength, stretched in her perch.

As she wound her way through the choreography for what seemed to be the last time, she thought of a great many things. She thought of Fenris, and how much she regretted not having his presence. Maker, it had only been a few hours since they'd arrived and gotten straight to work, but still. She imagined what Cora would look like. It had been nine years - had she aged a day, or did she look as young as Althaea had always remembered? Would she recognize her? Had Phoebus succeeded in letting her know Althaea was on the way, as he promised he would?

The music started again and Phineas called off a count from his position in front of the musicians. The routine was simple enough; she and the other Sun simply existed to frame the principal performer, so a few simple twists, extensions and drops were all that were required of them. It left her time to think.

When she looked down from her hold, she saw the last person she was expecting enter her field of vision, almost lost her nerve, and overcorrected, tangling a leg in the weave of the silk.

"Fox!" Phineas cried. "What is your problem?" He then groveled in front of the Archon, begging forgiveness, she supposed, but she couldn't hear his words. He stared up into the rafters, squinting, and let his gaze linger for longer than she was comfortable with.

Did he recognize her? No, how could he? She was wearing the amulet, though it was tucked away in the high neck of the performance outfit she was wearing. She looked at her hands, which were the color-that-wasn't-hers and were lacking freckles. No. He couldn't have.

Phineas barked at the troupe, who sighed and took it from the top, all on account of her stupid mistake, and when he finally ordered them out of the rafters for the evening, he smacked her upside the head and groveled in front of Gaius, this time.

Gaius, who had Mother's coloring and Father's face, simply stared her down. She resisted the urge to stare back - as she might have when she was still Amalthaea - and instead mumbled a very quiet, very subservient "my apologies, Your Grace."

"See to it that _that_ doesn't happen again," Gaius said to Phineas, "or I will have her killed, and Magister Tilani will not see recompense for her purchase price."

"Yes, Your Grace," Phineas said, and dragged Althaea by the ear in a showy display. He deposited her backstage, where Nigel waited.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Nigel hissed. "I saw everything, girl. You cannot lose your nerve. Not when everything is on the line."

"I know," she said, rubbing her ear. She knew Phineas had to make things as convincing as possible, but that was ridiculous.

"Did he recognize you?"

"I don't think so," she said, "but Gaius was definitely eyeing me up." She wrung her hands together, and the rest of the company came streaming through the stage door, laughing quietly among themselves.

"Nice one, Fox," said one of the floor dancers - Alair, perhaps? - a sprightly human male that had skin black as night. "Maybe next time you can fall proper and take the pressure off Bella, eh, since she can't seem to stay en pointe." Bella sneered at him and walked past her, clocking Althaea in the shoulder as she went.

Nigel grabbed her by that shoulder and shook her. "Keep your head. You're almost free and clear." He let her go, and she turned to leave.

"Oh, Amelia?" he called out as she began to head toward the slave chambers where the Sun were being quartered. "Now might be a good time to fetch yourself something from the kitchens."

Now that was a good idea. She went to change into something a little less ostentatious and follow his suggestion.

* * *

The kitchens of the Spire were cavernous and it seemed they were staffed at all hours of the day and night. When Althaea arrived, she was greeted by a couple of the junior staff and shown around; several other Suns were gathered on the far end of the room, which had been hastily assembled into a mess hall of sorts.

She scanned the kitchens, then flagged one of the younger slaves down. "I'm looking for Cora," she said. "Uh, old family friend." The girl looked a little surprised that a human slave would be asking after an elven one - even in the slave caste, humans still seemed to consider themselves a notch above the elvhen - but nodded and smiled uncomfortably.

"She's in the root cellar, taking one last inventory," she said, pointing in the direction from which she'd come. "Better hurry, though. I think she's going to be retiring for the evening soon."

When she descended the stairs into the root cellar, she heard a voice mumbling to itself in the far corner. Her breath hitched as she went in its direction, and her heart nearly stopped when she looked upon Cora's face for the first time in nearly ten years. Memories flooded through her mind: the first weeks in which she lay, bedridden and bored as only an active child relegated to sick time could be; the first time she'd snuck into the slave quarters with her book of tales; the look which had appeared on her face when she and Marius had stood in front of her, very proudly holding each other's hands.

She must have looked very odd indeed, because Cora looked up from her inventory sheet with a most curious expression, and simply said, "Renata? No. Nevermind, child. Just an old woman's eyes. Are you lost?"

Althaea shook her head mutely, unable to say any of the things she wanted to say. "No," she finally gulped. "I was looking for you."

She wanted to fall into this woman's arms, crying _mamae, mamae_, as she had after dozens of scraped knees and little knife cuts. But Cora didn't know the not-her, or if she did, she thought she was someone named Renata. Was she going senile? She couldn't be; she didn't look a day older than Althaea remembered.

"I, um...I..."

"Wait," Cora said, looking at her with an appraising eye. A memory seemed to bloom in her eyes, and then she went to the cellar entry and closed the door. "I was wondering when you'd come," she said, and reached around Althaea's neck to unclasp her amulet.

"It's really you," Cora said, as she felt the shift happen. Then she gathered Althaea up into her arms, petting her head.

"Mamae," Althaea breathed. Nine years.

Nine long years, half spent in servitude, the other in a semi-permanent state of flight. Nine years, and she was home again, or as home as home could get.

Home was in a root cellar. Well, there could be worse places for their grand re-entry into each other's lives - a dungeon, perhaps, or a remote cave.

"I've come to take you home," she said. "If you want to go, mamae. I live in the South now, and...and we can be free. Together."

"You came all this way for me?"

Althaea nodded. "I owed it to you to try," she said.

Cora crossed over to a crate, sat on it, and patted the other side. Althaea obliged her, and leaned her head into one of the older woman's slight shoulders.

"You have grown up so much," she said. "Tell me how you've fared."

And Althaea did; skipping over the more unpleasant portions of her tale, she told Cora about her escape, her time with the Chantry, her falling out with them, her relationship with Fenris. Cora simply nodded and smiled, asking the occasional question.

"...and I'm not afraid anymore, mamae, and I want us to be a family. Please tell me you'll come."

"I'll come, little one, don't you fret." She fingered the medallion. "This is an interesting little cantrip, _filia_. Where did you get it?"

Althaea explained about her week in Llomerryn, the Seer. "She said it showed the other half of my blood, mamae, but this other face doesn't look like anyone I know."

"No," Cora muttered, "of course it wouldn't."

Althaea was confused. What did Cora know that she didn't? "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure you're ready for this, sweetling, and a root cellar is not the best place to chat with you about such deep things." She got up and handed Althaea the little golden amulet. "Let's go for a walk; there's a very nice fountain hidden on the grounds where we can sit...away from wandering ears."

She was confused, but followed Cora through the kitchen, where members of the Sun were eating and drinking to their hearts' content, to a service corridor, and out to the gardens.

"Mamae, who is 'Renata'?" she asked, as they walked along. Cora hushed her and continued walking. "All in good time," she said. "Maker, but you were always so impulsive."

Althaea frowned. She liked to think she had gotten better about that, seeing as it was that personality trait which had gotten her into so much trouble in the first place. They finally reached the secret little garden, and Cora sat her down.

"I always love to come here," she said. "It's quiet and I can just take a moment to relax and think about things. I've thought about you a lot, wondered how you fared."

Well, things had been a little rough in the beginning, but Althaea thought she was having a pretty good go of it, these days. New name, new profession, new life, and no indication that Aloysius was any the wiser, despite the Chantry's threats. She said nothing.

"You never met Renata," she said. "She went away after you were weaned."

"So she was...my wet nurse?" Althaea knew she'd had one; her and Alexia's births had been hard on her mother, and the story was that struggled to feed both the girls enough. Had she been born in a lower caste, she might have been given up for dead.

"No," Cora said, in her infinitely patient voice. "She was your mother."

* * *

**Postscript: **Dun dun DUNNNNNNN. By the way, I only need TWO more reviews until one lucky reviewer gets a gift fic, don't forget! ~3k words on the subject of your choice in the Kindred AU.

I am writing the next chapter as we speak, so please stay tuned.


	29. The Sins of the Father

**A/N: **This is a small chapter, but I felt like shoving any more in here would not be right. I know I just posted one, but I'm really, really proud of this bit and I kinda want it out there. Hope you don't mind. As of right now, there are 74 reviews - don't forget the 75th gets a gift fic.

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - THE SINS OF THE FATHER**

In years to come, Althaea would remember and relive this revelation, remember the deathly serious look Cora had given her when she'd had to repeat herself, twice.

She would remember the odd feeling she had in the pit of her stomach when the Seer's words had echoed in her head: _Look plenty like her, way I see it._ She would remember how her father had squinted, and realize that the look on his face in that moment had actually been something of a double-take.

She would remember being speechless, and she would remember demanding something of Cora, for the first time: "Tell me everything you know."

And Cora did, and this is what Althaea remembered of it.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

There was a girl in the slave markets of Minrathous.

She wasn't an attendant, or a servant, or a magister; she was a slave. She was a slave, and her mother had been a slave, and her grandmother and great-grandmother had also been slaves. Of the fathers she knew little or nothing; their masters had been unkind, and they had long ago began counting things matrilineally. For, after all, a father could be a fleeting thing, and a girl could always be certain who her mother was.

Couldn't she?

There was a girl in the slave markets of Minrathous, and her master sold her. The new Master was stern but not unkind, and took her south to Solas, where she worked the kitchens and grew from a girl to a woman.

The other slaves would joke that her hair was as red as the flames of the fires she stoked, and that it seemed to stand straight out from her head, shocks of curls heading in every direction but where she wanted them. Most days, she kept her hair tied in a handkerchief, using her long elven ears to keep the fabric secure; but if she had been a human woman in a higher caste, the curls would have been her crowning glory.

She had her mother's name, and her mother's mother's name, and her great-grandmother's name, which was Renata; it was one of the words the ancient Tevene had shared with the elves of Arlathan, and had meant "rebirth".

Renata thought her name appropriate, and quite lovely, but the other slaves simply rolled their eyes and continued along their work, and said that the reason her eyes were so blue was because her head was constantly in the clouds. And it was; she performed her tasks with efficiency and accuracy, but she was prone to daydreaming as she went through the halls, serving the members of her Master's house.

One such day her daydreaming caused her to bump, headlong, into the Master's only son. In her old house, her inattention would have earned her the whip, but this was not her old house. The Master's son only laughed and picked himself off the floor, then looked into her eyes. Renata thought they were strange eyes, indeed, and not a color that should belong to a human. Did the Master's eyes look like that, she wondered? She found herself blurting out the question, rather than asking someone of her own station.

The Master's son laughed again, a warm laugh, a sweet laugh, and said that no, his eyes were strange indeed, and a throwback to the old blood; in the days of Old Arlathan, the Master's family had interbred with the elves, and claimed it was the source of their magic.

The Master's son asked for her name, and she gave it, and then he gave her the gift of his: Aloysius Demitridis, only son of Nicodemus Demitridis, and heir to his house, soon enough.

If Renata had known better, she would have turned tail at that moment and run, but instead she struck up a conversation with the Master's son - Aloysius, now - and he found that she was as intelligent as she was beautiful.

It was not long before Aloysius was meeting the slave in quiet places, private ones, to talk of the things that no one else would speak of with him, and he found that below her servile shyness, there was a fervency he'd seen in no one he'd ever met. Their conversations turned into friendship, and then love, but it couldn't last, and didn't. Nicodemus died and left the house to him, his only son, who was forced to take a human wife. He chose Esperanza Serra, a beautiful Antivan woman of no great regard and little substance, and grimly set about the task of siring an heir of his own.

Renata, most unfortunately, would get a head start. Phoebus Demitridis was born and given to Esperanza, who, lacking the proper tongue of her new home, could not object. Not to be outdone, she followed Phoebus with three children of her own: Gaius, Draco, Victoria. In the ten year span of her marriage to Aloysius, she mastered her tongue and found that it was quite sharp; the less charitable of her house would have called Lady Demitridis a shrew.

Renata was never mentioned following Phoebus's birth, but was allowed to wet-nurse the boy and become his governess, and a tense peace was achieved between the two: the true love, and the second fiddle. It wasn't until Esperanza was pregnant with her latest and last child that the peace was broken with more news: Renata was, to her great surprise, also eating for two. The girls, Alexia and Amalthaea, were born within hours of one another, and were raised as twins. Esperanza did not have enough milk for them both, and Renata was allowed to nurse this one, too; but if she thought she could raise Amalthaea beyond this, she would find no such luck after the girl was weaned.

There was a woman in the slave markets of Minrathous, and it was her Master's wife that sold her.

When the Master found out, he raged at his wife, but this time, she had the tongue to object, and did; he spent the rest of his days pining for what couldn't be and becoming a rather bitter man for it. And while he loved his children, all six of them, beautiful and hale and well spoken, he loved his eldest and youngest the most of all, and despaired for their lack of magic. He sent the eldest to university, well away from the shrew; and the shrew arranged for his youngest to go to a distant cousin of hers in Antiva, where the youngest would be well away from _her._

The plans were even better when she found her revenge; Gaius, her dear eldest, had found her husband's bastard carrying on with the slave boy from the kitchens, and in a matter of weeks the both of them were well out of her sight. Esperanza died a happy woman; her true child would inherit his father's name, elevated now that his father had become the Archon. It was not an inherited title, but it was a step up, all the same.

She'd never catch wind of his bastards' return to their father's life: one by land, and one by sea, for such news never reaches the grave.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Althaea stared at the fountain where they sat, until last of the sunset was gone and replaced by the wisps summoned nightly to light the garden paths.

"Why did no one ever tell me this?" she finally asked. She put the pieces together, and they all made sense: why Father had seemed to favor her and Phoebus both; why, even though they were twins, she and Alexia shared little in the way of a relationship; why he seemed to overreact at the thought of her loving Marius.

She would have said her world was shattered, but instead, it felt as it was put back together, and suddenly...she had to know. Not from Cora's mouth, or her mother's - well, no, she supposed she actually wasn't her mother, wasn't she? - but directly from the mouth of the proverbial horse.

Cora must have seen the look in her eyes, because she grabbed Althaea by the shoulder and shook her. "Whatever it is you're thinking about doing, _filia_, I expressly forbid it."

"Mamae, I have to know."

"Have to know what? I told you everything."

"He loved me."

"Yes, _filia,_ he always did."

"And he threw me away."

"That, I don't think, was completely his choice."

"Mother - Esperanza, then, I suppose - she made him do it?" _I knew she wasn't fond of me, but I still always thought she was my mother._

"I think she had something to say in the matter, yes. But, take it on faith that I think he's always regretted it."

Maker, now she had more than she ever wanted to think about. She sighed. "Why can't things ever be easy?"

Cora laughed. "If they had been, I don't think you'd be who you are. Come on now, sweetling. You need to get some food in you, and some rest, and I need to think about how I can disappear without being noticed for as long as we need to make our escape."

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Postscript: **in retrospect, I may have been reading too much Gaiman. Also having trouble with section breaks, again. Review, review, review! I love you guys and love seeing your thoughts.


	30. The Seventh Terminus

**CHAPTER 30 - THE SEVENTH TERMINUS**

They were in the field of poppies again, where the Fade had recently brought rain. It was warm, and the smell of petrichor filled the air; Althaea sat, cradled in Fenris's arms, and let the cool wetness of the grass soak her dress.

She'd told him everything, here in the place where she'd promised they'd meet while she was staying at the Spire, and even though her sleeping body was uncomfortable on a hard cot in a slave dormitory at the Spire, the warmth and smell of the poppy field helped her forget, a little.

He'd been silent for a few long moments, now, and she supposed he was gathering his thoughts, trying to figure out the best thing to say, or perhaps even decide what he wanted to say. She knew what was coming, so there was really no surprise when he finally opened his mouth.

"You aren't planning on confronting your father, are you? Please tell me you aren't." It was the patiently exasperated voice gained from long months spent watching her charge ahead, refusing to leave things well enough alone.

She knew it. She'd spent a while thinking about it before she'd finally succumbed to sleep. She wanted to know, she had to...but at what cost?

She knew this was what he'd say; it had been what Cora had said, too. She breathed out in a heavy sigh. "I can't spend the rest of my life not knowing," she said, and she felt him shaking his head in disappointment.

"I'll have to," he said, and the thought of that broke her heart. He had no answers, no memories, and unless he found Varania again, no link to his past. It seemed to hurt him less and less as time went on; after his conversation with the Seer, it seemed to barely trouble him at all.

No answers, no memories. The only thing he had was the promise of a future with her, and here she was doing her damnedest to ruin it by getting caught and carted off to the Archon's dungeons. And for what? She knew what she needed to know. Her father had refused to choose between his sense of duty and love, and she - and many others - had paid the price.

So what questions were there, other than _why?_ And did she even need to know that answer?

_No,_ she thought, and repeated it aloud. "No. You're right."

Fenris straightened up and she could feel his smile blossoming behind her, even though she couldn't see it; the Fade was funny that way. She continued. "If you can do it, so can I."

He seemed to relax, to deflate, and he nuzzled her neck affectionately as they sat together. The decision was cathartic. There were no more stones to turn, no more avenues to explore, save for the ones they'd travel together. The book of her past was half done, and she was closing it anyway. _Like one of Varric's terrible novels._ And she was at peace with that.

There was just one loose end in Septimus, and that would be easy enough to snip, if he'd but show his face at the Feast of the Eternal Flame.

That one, though, bore little risk, and Fenris supported his justice wholeheartedly. No one would notice a magister cavorting about with a dancer, after all, and no one would notice that he had disappeared until morning.

Not one.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The performance was over. She'd executed her part perfectly and now all there was to do was get in a regular set of clothing, rub elbows with her betters, and see if Septimus had deigned to join the afterparty.

This would be her favorite part. The attendees of the Feast were likely well and truly drunk by now, and sufficient awe at the performance would certainly lubricate the interactions. Some of the magisters present might even forget that the Black Suns were glorified slaves, all of them. Others would take advantage of that, to either the detriment or benefit of the various Suns, depending on who one asked. According to Nigel, some of them lent themselves out on nights like this, for coin or favor, or secrets that they could drag back to Mae. The Suns were her little spiders, weaving webs and telling tales, and performing the occasional act of wetwork.

"Less messy," she'd said. Was she ever right on that front.

Nigel met her at the entry to the dressing room and walked next to her a spell as she made her way toward the grand hall entry. "Have you seen him?" she asked.

"He's here," he said with an almost imperceptible nod. "I brought you some things." He adjusted a few pins on her dress, replacing them with some of his own. "The three in your neckline are steeped in magebane. Not much, perhaps an hour's worth each. The one in your bodice is called 'quiet death,' it -"

"I'm unfortunately quite familiar with the nature of this one," she said. She thought of Luka, and how appropriate it would be if Septimus were to meet his end by the same poison she'd feared she'd have to use on herself. She enjoyed the poetic justice of it.

"Good. Then know it's quite concentrated. You may have to behave in a manner you won't like," he said. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Of course she would. Septimus was well known for his penchant for whoring, and the easier the prey, the better. _I know what makes him tick. It was either learn or suffer at his pet mage's hands. I can suffer the indignity of playing the doxy if it means he dies tonight._ "Yes," she said. "It will be done."

"I'm returning to Mae, then," he said, and kissed her hand. "Good luck."

She entered the grand hall and reached for a glass of wine from the nearest attendant; Cora was manning a food table, serving vol-au-vents and tarts to the guests. She smiled at Althaea. "News?"

"Do you have everything?" Althaea asked.

"I have a little, but it's all ready to go."

"Good," she said. "Wait me in the cellar at two bells past midnight." She served herself a vol-au-vent and milled around the crowd, attempting not to look too intent on finding anyone. She stroked a few egos, accepted some congratulations, and spoke as little as possible. Alair found her in the crowd and shook her hand.

"Good job not fucking it up, Fox," he said. He was then accosted by a magister and steered away for a drunken conversation.

There was a painful moment, when she spotted her father come in and sit on the dais reserved for the Archon. Phoebus was managing the receiving line and made brief eye contact with her, graced her with a small smile. She wondered if _he_ knew the truth. There was another pang of regret when she spotted Alexia, heavily pregnant and on the arm of a magister easily twenty years her senior. So close, and yet so far. They'd spoken little, in those last years, and it hurt to think they'd never speak again, or that their sons would never meet; cousins that would never know of one another's existence. She spotted Gaius milling about the room, and quickly headed in the other direction.

All in all, it took nearly an hour before she was able to find Septimus, and then catch his eye. He smiled at her, and, choking down all her revulsion, she smiled back. He made his way toward her.

"That was a stellar performance, my dear," he said. His voice was was as oily as his long, blond hair, slicked back and pinned down. "I once had a small troupe of performers very like this, and I must say how much I appreciated their athleticism and skill. How long have you been training?"

"On and off for about six years, messere," she crooned. "Mostly off on account of having other duties."

"Ah," he said. "I quite understand that. And why is it you chose this particular type of performance?"

She tittered. She knew he liked that. Septimus liked his girls drunk and too vapid to answer anything but the most superficial of questions. He also liked to see a fair amount of kink, which was why there were always at least two or three acrobats around his estate. Ah. There it was. "If it pleases you, messere, I always had a certain amount of...flexibility." She touched his arm lightly. "More wine?"

His eyes clouded over with lust, and in that moment Althaea knew he was as good as dead. "I...well, yes. I would like more wine, my sweet." She curtsied and obliged, taking care to fake a stumble and shaking what little assets she had as she sauntered to a tray of wineglasses.

All told, it was not long before she was shoved against a wall, being kissed in a most ungracious manner. Bile was rising up in her throat, but he was too drunk to notice or too cruel to care. "Messere," she breathed, in the most unctuous timbre she could manage, given the circumstance, "we should carry on...in a more private place, don't you think?" She brushed a hand lightly against his arousal, making him shudder. _You taught me this, and I will kill you with it._

"My quarters," he said, taking her arm roughly and leading her down the hall. "Now."

When his back was turned, she faked a trip and scratched him with the two pins she was given, letting them drop to the floor. "Oh!" she cried, picking herself up. "My apologies, messere, did I scratch you?"

"A little," he said, and continued to drag her toward his room, where he stripped her of her clothing posthaste.

She kept her head. This was justice, not vengeance, after all; bringing emotion into the deal would only spoil things. In moments he'd be feeling the tug of the magebane, though he might well be drunk enough not to notice. In moments after that, he'd be feeling the sting of the quiet death. She just needed to keep him occupied enough to make it to that point, lest there be a noisy struggle. _Forgive me, Fenris, _she thought, as she stripped him of his own.

"Pretty little amulet," he mused as he fingered her drakon, then pushed her down to her knees. His voice was slowing, his lips were turning blue, and it looked like his erection had failed. _Not long now._

His breathing became labored, and he pulled away from her to sit on the bed. "Forgive me, my sweet," he said. "I seem to be feeling a little...off."

_Now._ "Yes," she said. "You would be." She went to the pile of discarded clothing and put her clothing back on.

His eyes seemed to glisten with realization. "You're going to kill me," he said, "aren't you?"

"I killed you ten minutes ago." She gathered up the magebane pin she could find - _kaffas, where did the other go? - _and strode back over to the bed. He had fallen on his back against the plush coverlet, and was struggling even more.

She removed the amulet and watched terror dawn in his eyes as he tried to gather mana and couldn't. She didn't smile.

He took in a deep, quivering breath. "He tried to take you back," he said. "Your...father."

Althaea said nothing.

"I own you," he said. "He should never have tried it." His breath became rapid and ragged. "I...own...you."

"I am no longer a slave," she said as she listened to his death rattle, "and you are no longer my master."

She sat astride the magister and watched him breathe his last, then stole his coin and left for the kitchens, fastening the amulet as she went.

It was over. There had been no struggle, which she had intended and was glad for, but to watch the powerful mage be taken down by a little girl with a couple of dress pins was a little more anticlimactic than she had expected.

And that piece of news. Her father had tried to take her back. When had that happened?

Wait. The night things had taken their turn for the worse. What better way to spite the magister than to humiliate him through his daughter? Another piece of the puzzle clicked, another question answered, but it seemed that answer had created a hundred more questions. She stuffed them away; they were questions to which she no longer needed the answers.

She reached the kitchen, where she stopped and took a deep breath. It was over.

It was over!

She thanked the Maker in a silent prayer. He'd seen her through, Him and a half-dozen of his tools, and just a few steps away Cora was in the cellar, awaiting her arrival. Just a few more steps-

"Hello, sister," said a voice from the entry of the kitchen. Her heart stopped and the world seemed to slow to a halt with it. She turned to see Gaius closing and locking the kitchen door. "Don't bother with that little bauble of yours, I know it's you."

Althaea said nothing, and only watched helplessly as he strode toward her. She felt in her neckline; the pin was still there, for what little good it would do her. Gaius had been a well-honed battlemage, just like their father, and she doubted that had changed any. If anything, he seemed even burlier than he'd been in her youth, and she was sure he was armed.

She took a deep breath, and watched him cross the counter and sit on a tall stool. "Fancy seeing you here," he said. "I was sure you were in Kirkwall."

_Kaffas,_ she thought. He knew then, and if he knew, so did Father. Or did he? "Does Father know?" she asked, casually as possible.

"Hmm, no," he said. "I keep his correspondence as well as my own agenda. Come. Sit, and we'll talk."

She sat. If she could keep him talking, she could formulate a plan. She eyed the cellar door, silently willing Cora not to come out of it.

"How have you been?" he asked. His tone was conversational, but Althaea knew better. "As I hear it, you've been a pretty busy girl."

"I've had my uses." She took an inventory of the room. Not far - perhaps four paces away - there was a butcher block and a mean-looking fillet knife.

"And yet I find you here, in Minrathous. You must have something very important to do, if you're here, and wearing your harlot mother's face to boot. Did you think that would get you very far?"

"To be honest, Gai, I didn't know I wasn't Esperanza's until yesterday." _Wait._ "How long have _you _known?"

"Not long before Mama died," he said. "I suppose she didn't want Father's secret to go to the grave." He inspected his broad fingernails. "It makes a hell of a lot more sense, knowing that my father was a bastard that made a couple of his own."

"I'm sorry, Gai."

"You ruined her, little squirrel."

"I'm faultless," she said, anger rising in her throat. Ill-begotten by-blow that she was, how could she have had anything personal to do with Esperanza's state of mind? "I did nothing."

"You were born," he said. "That was enough. You were born and Father loved you and your bastard brother more than he loved any of us, because your mother was his true love." The last words he said in a singsong sneer, as if to show her just what he thought of that particular notion. "And now you're here, to reclaim your birthright, I suppose. Well, I can assure you that that's not going to happen."

She noticed the slurred speech, the slowness of his actions. He was drunk! What great fortune! Cora appeared in the doorway to the cellar, and, noticing Gaius, looked to Althaea. She gave a tiny shake of the head in her direction. _Do nothing._

"Why are you here, then?" he asked. "Came to sneak a peek, maybe ask a few questions?"

"No," she said. "I was just here to meet someone."

"Bullshit."

"No bullshit, Gai. I was here for a little visit, and now I'm going home." Cora inched closer, reaching for a cast-iron pan as she moved along.

"I suppose you have a life, down there, don't you."

"I've done my best, yes."

"Got a little knife-ear to replace Merry? I heard you were traveling with some Tevinter elf. Danarius's old boy. I did tell Father about that."

"He's not here," she said. "He's nowhere you can reach him."

"He's a valuable little bugger, and rather malleable, as I've heard. Who's to stop me putting you under a geas, and taking me for a little boat ride to meet him?"

"Me," Cora said, and brought the cast-iron pan against the backside of his head. Gaius rose, roaring in pain, and unleashed a telekinetic blast against Cora, knocking her into the wall. She fell to the floor and didn't get up.

"No!" Althaea cried, dragging the magebane pin out of her neckline and stabbing Gaius with it; he hardly noticed as he channeled his mana for another blast.

It shoved her against the wall, pushing her with the weight of what seemed a hundred boulders, she couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't do anything -

The pressure let up, and Gaius looked at his traitorous hands. "What did you do?"

"Magebane," she said, catching her breath in great lungfuls. "It's the soporata's best friend."

"_Fasta vass,_" he swore, and Althaea bit back every taunt she wanted to respond with. Her eyes darted in Cora's direction; she was still against the wall, but still breathing. Gaius noticed and started crossing in her direction.

"I know this one," he said, brandishing a dagger. "This was your first little knife-ear's mother."

She gathered everything she had, and ran towards him, pulling him away from Cora. He stumbled and dropped the dagger, but even drunk and injured as he was, he was still capable of inflicting a goodly amount of injury. He stabbed and missed, and she was suddenly thankful for all the time she'd spent sparring with Nigel and Fenris both.

_He has reach, you have flexibility._ One more stab, and she kicked him in the groin. He wailed and bull-rushed her, shoving her against the counter where they'd sat just a few moments prior.

He was choking her, his meaty hands had closed around her neck, had threatened to close her windpipe, were stripping the life from her. She fumbled and flailed, reaching, reaching -

The knife. She felt it, felt her hands close upon it, and in one swift movement, she buried it into her half-brother's side. His grip loosened, and blood flowed along the blade and into her hands.

She twisted the knife. He wailed and fell back, clutching his side, surprise in his eyes.

She breathed out; he could destroy everything. He'd almost killed her, and the magebane would wear off before long, she was sure of it.

A tear rolled down her cheek as she stepped up to him, removed the knife, and plunged it between his ribs and into his heart.


	31. Flight

**CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - FLIGHT**

Althaea never imagined that a knife could become quite so stuck in a corpse, but then again, she'd never murdered by way of a blade.

She'd never murdered, even, really, before tonight. Not in cold blood, like this. The only times she'd killed had been in battle, when it was either her or the opposition. She'd incapacitated Gaius in her self-defense, and it was true that blow might have killed him given long enough without magic, but that second stab, the one to the heart...

That had been calculated. She'd looked in his eyes and seen the risk he'd been to her continued freedom, to Fenris's, to Cora's.

And then she'd killed him.

Her hands quivered and shook as she leveraged her hands against the corpse to remove the knife, and she fell backward when she finally wrenched it free. She looked into the corpse's eyes, her father's shape and his mother's color, and half a million memories passed through her mind's eye.

He had been sweet to her, and kind as well, and they'd rubbed along as peacefully as two souls so different could. He had always been a warrior, and the only skill to which he applied his ability to read were arcane texts. His magic was unsubtle, that was for sure.

She wiped the fringe of her hair from her eyes, but it wasn't until she reached out to close his eyes that she realized the hand she'd used was covered in blood. She switched hands, and wondered whether she'd gotten a lot of that blood on her face in the act.

It still didn't feel like anything had happened. She took the coin purse from him as well, and moved to Cora, who was moaning and coming to; she shook her shoulder.

"Mamae. Mamae, wake up."

"You're alive."

She ignored that. The fight had been loud and bloody, and she wasn't strong enough to move her brother's corpse. They were out of time. "We have to leave. We have to go, now. Where are your things?"

Cora staggered as she got up, and leaned heavily against the wall. "Small bag in the cellar. Not much in there, just a little bit of coin and some trinkets."

"I'll go get it. Take this." She handed Cora the fillet knife and went to cellar for the bag. When she came up, she fetched a cleaver from the butcher block; the thing would be unbalanced and unwieldy, but it would be better defense than nothing.

"How do we leave?" Althaea asked. "Is there a back entrance?"

"The slave roads," Cora said. "Not that safe at this time of night, though."

The way Althaea saw it, it would only be a matter of minutes before imperial templars were on their heels. She'd just murdered the Archon's heir in cold blood. She put as much bravado into her voice as she could, even though she knew Cora would see right through it. "Show me the way."

Cora leaned heavily on her as they slowly made their way to the service corridor that led to the slave roads, a sort of undercity made to keep the slaves of Minrathous out of sight while attending their business. Althaea knew it wouldn't be safe, but the choice at this point was either common thugs or well-trained templars. She wondered if Nigel and Mae had made it home safely. If they had, Fenris was most likely out of his mind with worry.

"We have to cross past the other chambers," Cora said to her, a raw whisper in the darkness. "Be silent as you can, and keep to the shadows. This is where your father sleeps."

_Kaffas. _"There's no other way around?"

"We could take the gardens, but there are still revelers afoot, I'm sure, and you're drenched in blood." _Kaffas et vishante kaffas!_

They continued, keeping to the shadows, and Cora fumbled to look for a key. "What I wouldn't give for a magelight," she said. Althaea thought of the magelight she had at home, a little orb Anders had given her last Satinalia. It was a tiny glass ball that shone when she rubbed it, and she'd forgotten it at the Circle in her anger. She wished she had it.

"Here," Cora said, and started to turn the key in the lock.

She realized she hadn't been keeping watch when Cora stopped and twitched. The motion reminded her of a prey animal hearing a predator; she stood, stock-still. "We're not alone," she whispered. Althaea grabbed the cleaver and held it out.

"What can you see?" Althaea asked. She knew Cora could see farther in the dark, could hear better -

A wisp shot out of the darkness and floated at eye level. It buzzed with curiosity, then fluttered back to its owner, bathing his face in light, and for the third time that night, Althaea's heart stopped.

Her father was tall, much taller than she, and thin as a rail, even in the best of years. His vulpine face was an echo of her own; the only thing she seemed to have missed was his aquiline nose.

"I thought you would come," he said, quietly, "but I didn't think you'd be in such a hurry to leave." His voice was sad, but Althaea held her cleaver at the ready, anyway; Cora continued to worry at the lock.

"I was here only for Cora, adda. Please, let us go."

"Commotion," whispered Cora, as the lock clicked open. "Not far. We have to leave."

"I have missed you so much, little peach," he said, and continued to walk toward her, arms extended, waiting.

She wanted to embrace him, to collapse in his arms, to cry, to ask all the questions she'd ever wanted to ask, to know all the things she wanted to know.

Cora touched her arm. "We need to leave, _filia, _before he hears." All of her thoughts melted away; suddenly, her father was no longer a magister, no longer the Archon, no longer her father, no longer the holder of any of her answers. He was just a sad old man in the way of her only chance at freedom. She held the cleaver out against him, and he stood still at its edge.

"Please," she said. "Let me go. I want to go home."

"I have so much to ask," he said. "We haven't talked."

"There's nothing to talk about. You...you loved my mother, and you ruined Esperanza's life. And then she ruined mine." Tears streamed down her face, in a constant flow, it seemed. "Let me go, adda. I can still pick up the pieces."

He seemed to stop and consider that a moment, Cora tugged at her sleeve. "Adda," she said. "Please."

"Go," he said, almost choking on the word.

_How can I trust him not to follow? I killed his heir. When he sees the body, he'll come running. He knows we're headed to the slave roads. _She racked her brain in a mad scramble. Surely something she'd read recently would come to mind -

It hit her. If the idea had been something solid and small, it would have made a welt on her head. "Swear you won't follow," she said.

"I swear it," he said. His eyes were rife with emotion, and it was in that moment that she knew he was staring at an almost perfect copy of Renata, who'd been gone for almost twenty years. Something else in her manner must have clued him in, then.

She dug the words out of a deep recess. Where had she found it? Almost certainly one of Mae's books. She reached for his dagger and handed it to him, hilt first. "Not good enough," she said. "Swear it on our blood. Swear you won't follow. Swear you'll leave my kith and kin alone."

He knew what she was asking, and he knew the words. The blood pact was old magic, deep magic. His eyes hardened, but he took the dagger to his forearm and sliced it. "I swear it on my blood," he said, then did the same with her proffered arm. "I swear it on yours. I swear it on the blade we share." There was no mana, but the air around their bleeding arms seemed to shimmer and grow heavy with promise.

"If you're forsworn -" she started.

"I'll die, I know." He frowned. "I owed you an apology, and answers. Consider this the closest I can get." He handed her the dagger, a beautiful piece of work inlaid with precious stone.

She removed the drakon and his face softened. "There's my peach."

There was no embrace, no big goodbye, no _I love you, I'll never see you again._ There was only a hasty retreat into the darkness, where the wisp followed for a while and then dissipated. Between torches, runes on the dagger glowed and lit a small bit of the way ahead. She willed the amulet to life under her touch; its heat a compass on which the needle pointed not north, but to Fenris.

* * *

In the kitchens, Gaius's hand twitched, and his body staggered up from the pool of blood around him.

* * *

In Mae's office, Fenris paced from one end of the room to the other. Mae sat, still in the clothes she had worn to the Feast, and Nigel stood at his customary place by the hearth.

"You're sure she wasn't with the rest of the performers?" he asked.

"Yes," Nigel said. "She left with Septimus. She had pins laced with magebane and poison."

"And she didn't come back?"

"No," Nigel said. "She didn't come back. Give her time, Leto."

He sighed and continued pacing.

* * *

There were a few would-be thieves, but the desperation on her face and the blood on the dagger she pointed at them kept all but one away. That one had been feral at best, insane at worst, and though she only struck him with the pommel of the dagger, he crumpled to the floor, dead. Cora coughed and continued moving, her limp slowly growing less and less pronounced, and Althaea fought the bile rising in her throat.

_Murderer. _She was a murderer thrice over now. Septimus had deserved his death. Gaius and this one had been collateral damage.

The amulet was burning now, its heat both uncomfortable and welcome, and she'd followed the signs to the dwarven embassy._ Not far now._ She wondered if Fenris had felt the tug of his own. She didn't think it worked that way - hers hadn't burned when he'd gone looking for her, all those weeks ago - but even if he had, there was no way for him to know that she wasn't traveling the surface.

There was a stairwell to the upper streets at the end of the block, and upon seeing it their pace hastened; they were almost back to the estate. Cora froze again and squinted into the darkness. "It can't be," she said.

"What?"

"You're sure your brother was dead?"

"Mamae, I stabbed him through the heart." But she saw what Cora was seeing.

Gaius was following them, a form barely discernible in the low light of the slave road, lurching unsteadily, mortally wounded and still walking. Two infernal pools of light blazed where his eyes had been. Not Gaius, then, but a demon wearing his body.

"Run!" she cried to Cora, though the best they could manage was a quick limp. The stairs seemed to go on forever, but they eventually spilled out into the evening; the entryway to Mae's estate was a hundred yards off, but might has well have been a hundred miles. A fireball shot out and singed Althaea's shoulder; she hissed and continued running. The magebane had worn off, or the demon inside could get its mana from elsewhere. She was no match for it.

The gate was locked, and the revenant was closing in. "Grant us entry!" Althaea yelled, hoping that someone who mattered would hear. "Maevaris! Grant us entry!"

Another lick of flame blossomed just outside her field of vision; she didn't dare look behind her. "Can you climb it if I give you a boost?" she asked Cora. It was a desperate move; the woman was old, but she couldn't leave her behind. Even if she fell, Mae or one of the other healers at the estate could help put her right.

Cora nodded. She was light, and Althaea was strong, stronger than she'd been in years from the training. She hoisted the elf up and she tumbled over the fence, landing with a soft whuff. "I'm fine," she called.

Cora looked at her from across the barred gate, and Althaea tried to climb, herself, but a well of gravity dragged her down, and in that moment, she knew she was out of time.

"Get Fenris," she said. It was all she had time to squeeze out before the revenant gathered its mana and tossed her across the square like a rag doll.

* * *

Commotion rose in the grand entry, and Samara burst into Mae's office with no preamble.

"Mae, there's a crazed woman in the foyer, says she climbed the fence and that there's a...revenant outside?"

Fenris looked at Nigel, then at Mae. They exchanged dark looks at each other, and hurried out, grabbing weapons off the rack.

The woman in the foyer was dusty and bleeding from a few scrapes on her palms and arms. Cora. He knew her name, even if he didn't know her face, and she seemed to recognize him. "She's in the square. She didn't make it over -"

He nodded and started running, Mae and Nigel not far behind. There would be time for introductions later.

* * *

She landed, hard, and felt her arm break. The thing inside Gaius stumbled over to her, lurching even harder now. It didn't breathe, but made a slow, hissing exhalation that sounded like it came from a broken windpipe.

Its eyes burned.

She looked at it with the placid curiosity of someone about to die, someone who'd made her peace with that. Fenris would take care of Cora, she knew. "What are you?" she asked it. The thought of reasoning with it seemed ridiculous, but to her surprise, it spoke, directly in her head, and it hurt.

_You cost me my body, girl. That was an idiot mistake. _

Oh, Maker. Gaius had struck a bargain with a demon. "Go back to the Fade. You don't belong here."

_You know nothing. The brother-form knew nothing, either. His position was convenient, but I can take yours instead._

"I'm useless to you. I have no magic."

_That is irrelevant. I can give you power beyond dreaming. I can give you the answers you seek. All you have to do is say yes._

Althaea tried to get up, but the best she could manage was to scoot a couple of feet. _Keep it talking,_ she thought. _Keep it talking._

"Andraste, bride of the maker, to You I pray." The words barely came as it loomed over her, considering. "Though I walk the edge of the Void, I fear no evil, for You are with me -"

_Your petty words will not spare you. Choose now or die like the meat you are._

"- you have cleansed the world through flame -"

_Enough. _It reached for her and lifted her with a telekinetic force, crushing her throat. It would have succeeded, but a greatsword ran it through, attached to a great, burning light: Fenris, though she'd never seen him glow so brightly.

It looked down at the sword, then at Fenris, whose face was contorted with fear and anger, and something else that she couldn't place. He twisted the blade, reached _into_ the thing, and shoved the clawed gauntlet out of the body. The corpse that was once her brother's fell; the demon, separated from it, congealed into its true form, hulking above them, and speaking for real, this time.

"You cost me my body," it roared. Mae cast a shield around Althaea, then stared the thing down.

"Not in my city," she said. "Go back from whence you came, demon."

It charged, but between Fenris's sword, Nigel's daggers, and Mae's lightning storm, it fell. The steaming corpse melted into the streets. Althaea sputtered and coughed as Mae knitted her back together; she wiped her bloody hand across her forehead.

"Took you long enough," she said to Fenris, and laughed. He did not, but instead took her into his arms and kissed her: blood, dust, and all.

He picked her up, and even though she knew she could walk, she didn't. He needed this. She imagined he'd paced a hole in the floor waiting for news, and suffered when there was none. She was hours overdue. Cora waited on the bottom stair of the grand staircase, and when they came in, she rushed to her side and held her in her arms.

They were finally together. She cried like the child she felt she was; she was home.

* * *

Fenris stood uncomfortably, watching the reunion and waiting for his own, when to his surprise, Cora looked up at him, smiling, and dragged him into her embrace by the hem of his coat. A memory shone behind the fog, blasting through it like a searchlight.

_He was small, and he'd skinned a knee or stubbed a toe, or some other childish injury that had made the world seem like it would end. A woman - his mother? - kissed it and made it better. Then she returned to her work, but not before she gave him a hug and an oat cake, and pushed him back out into the courtyard._

Her face was invisible, just the sense of it had come through to him, but he knew the look on it had matched the look on Cora's face, just now. His brows knitted together and he bathed in it, reveled in the feeling of arms around him, the sense of unconditional, unquestioning love. _A mother's love._

He had been loved; the peace of that knowledge washed over him. He was coated in blood and dirt and demonic ichor, and they would have to flee, quickly - but in that moment, all was right with the world.

* * *

**Postscript: **TWELVE THOUSAND WORDS in a week, you guys. I am a MACHINE.


	32. Journey Home

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**** - JOURNEY HOME**

The torches blazed in the Archon's study and the young mage that served as his assistant kneeled at his feet.

"My lord," he said. "The templars found Gaius."

"What news?"

"He was in the dwarven quarter, my lord. Dead, and his remains showed evidence of a long-term possession."

He hummed thoughtfully. Gaius had been acting oddly since the death of his mother; perhaps this was the reason why.

"There's another thing. He had injuries before that, my lord, consistent with the struggle we found in the kitchens."

Aloysius said nothing, but eyed the scar on his forearm, while the assistant made his apologies. He thought about the blood on his daughter, something he hadn't really noticed in the moments he'd stared at her. All he could think of in that moment was how much she'd looked like her mother. The blood had been irrelevant.

Now her figured he would never see either again. Renata was dead, and Amalthaea had compelled him into casting a blood geas, the stipulations of which meant he could never follow her. He smirked and shook his head, unsure if he should be angry. She'd killed his heir, after all, though Gaius's actions - demon or no - may have earned his execution at her hands. And then, she had outfoxed him.

His Amalthaea, his peach. She always was a clever girl.

_No more secrets. _"Fetch Phoebus," the Archon said. "It appears we have a few things to talk about."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next afternoon, they gathered again in Mae's office. They were rested, healed, and fed, and besides the emotional scars, there was no evidence of the previous night's events.

"I've arranged for shipment of the silks, but you wouldn't be able to leave for a month if you traveled with them," said Nigel. "It's up to you."

Althaea looked at Cora, then at Fenris, who reddened a little when she smiled. In the morning when they'd woken, she'd told him everything, including the details of her encounter with Septimus; she'd waited for his judgement to come down on her after she'd given him the truth of it.

It hadn't come. Well, not exactly. He'd sat and thought about it for a few long minutes, and then he'd staked his own claim on her. It was the most possessive she'd ever seen him; she'd blossomed under his touch, and he'd healed her at the same time as he'd taken her for his own. Together, they'd closed that book.

She couldn't resist the smallest of smiles in response to that memory. "What do you think?" she asked him.

"We've gone by land, once," he said. "If we do it again, we can leave tonight."

"I can give you horses, coin, and armor," Mae offered. "Consider it your thanks for my new career opportunity."

Althaea frowned. "Mamae?"

"I trust you," she said, and patted Fenris's hand. Althaea smiled when she saw that he'd not only accepted, but embraced the touch.

"All right, then," Mae said. "Get some lunch and a nap, and I'll take care of the rest."

* * *

Fenris had seen horses before, but never this closely, and now he was expected to ride one. _She leads me to the strangest places, my amara._

He watched her tacking up the horse, getting familiar with the packs and what was in them. It seemed she knew her way around the beast, but apprehension was written all over her face.

"Are you afraid of it?" he asked. She frowned and looked around, saw that Cora was not in the vicinity, and nodded.

"I'm a fair rider, but Father's stallion kicked me once and I never quite shook it." She tightened the saddle. "I just - I don't want Cora to know. She's more afraid than I am, and we're riding double, so..."

"I understand," he said. "I've never ridden before, either, but the horses will de-complicate things."

"Speed the journey, I know. That's why I'm not complaining."

He patted his gelding's shoulder. Mae's stable master had given him the crash course, and though he'd never seen one of the beasts up close, he thought this one was rather beautiful. It nickered, ears relaxed, and nuzzled at the pouch where he had what the grooms had called "horse candy".

"I think it likes you," Althaea laughed.

"I think it likes the apples in my pouch." He pulled one out and handed it to the questing lips of the gelding, where it disappeared with all haste. The warmth and smell of the horse were...oddly comforting. He could get used to traveling like this, even if he didn't know the first thing about riding.

"We'll take it easy for the first few days," she said, "so we don't get too sore."

"I'm sure we'll be fine."

Nigel escorted them to the city gates, and they rode through the night. When they finally stopped to camp, Fenris found that he was aching in muscles he didn't even know he had. Althaea shook her head and smiled as she tied the horses to a tree and limped to where they'd set their bedrolls.

They paced themselves better on the next day's ride.

* * *

The journey was straightforward, though Althaea started getting nervous when they passed Marnus Pell.

"It goes against everything I remember, taking the highway," she said, when he finally pressed her for the reason why. True enough - he hadn't taken the highway in his flight, either. But they were not being pursued, and if any of the travelers they'd passed had noticed that two of the three hooded figures on horses were elves, they said nothing.

If it had been only him, though, he was sure the first thought of the passers-by would have been _escaped slave, stolen horse._ He said nothing of that opinion, though. Althaea didn't need to know about his insecurities on that front. He simply accepted the fact that her presence instantly legitimized his, and continued to ride south. He was, after all, finding that he quite enjoyed it.

They hung east at the fork in the highway, and at another fork, both Cora and Althaea perked up. She stopped the horse and looked down the road.

"What is it?" Fenris asked. Althaea's horse sidestepped a few times, and he fancied the look in her eyes was that of regret.

"That is the road to Solas," Cora said. Althaea sighed, turned her mare around, and clicked her back into a trot, ignoring the road without a word.

* * *

They rested for a week in Perivantium, the last sizeable city east. From here they'd wind along the foothills, and the journey would be a little more difficult; the towns were smaller and farther between along the plains.

Their coin was good enough to earn them a good-sized room in one of the safer quarters, as well as decent food and hot baths. On the third day of their rest, though, Althaea stopped him when he would have made love to her.

"Have I done something to upset you?" he asked. He tried to remember something that could have been offensive and found that he couldn't think of anything.

"No," she said, and hesitated. "It's just that...well..."

The last time he had made this trip, he would have cried _out with it_ and left it at that, but time seemed to have taught him patience. "You can tell me anything."

"I ran out of my moon tea," she finished. "And I haven't found any more."

That was it? He laughed, and she looked confused. "I thought you said you wanted to meet our son."

"I did. I do."

"And what great problem would it be, if he was conceived tonight, instead of two months from now?" He kissed her. "I don't pretend to know much about horses, but I have seen pregnant women ride."

Maker, but she could worry about the silliest things. When they finished, she slept. Fenris stayed awake, hand lingering in the spot where his son might be, even now.

* * *

They were in the poppy field, but this time, it was in the Real.

Spring had come early to the south, and the promise of being so close to home had given all three weary travelers a well-needed boost in morale. Their gold had remained good, buying rooms, food, and silence from the locals, even when Althaea and Fenris rode into towns hand in hand.

So it was that they had traveled the plains and crossed the Minanter by ferry, avoiding Hasmal for Tantervale, in the Free Marches. It was here that Fenris had gotten a funny look in his face, and the first devious grin Althaea had seen from him in ages.

He'd insisted on getting the best room their coin and status could buy. He'd insisted she spend as long as she liked in the bath, and had set out a plain blue dress, instead of her armor. Then, he'd blindfolded her and led her here. When he'd removed the fabric from her eyes, she'd smiled at the sight of it, and the sight of him, stripped of his armor for the first time since leaving Minrathous.

It was more real than it had ever seemed, but intimately familiar, all the same. They'd spent hours here in the memory of it, and even though there was still a lingering cool in the air, it was a very welcome sight.

A few steps behind her alerted her to Cora's presence. She was dressed more finely than Althaea had ever seen her; what had Fenris been up to, while she'd been relaxing in her bath? Cora raised her hands up, and put a poppy wreath in her hair.

She was confused, now. "What's going on?"

He only smiled and led her to an arbor in the field, where a Chantry sister waited, a placid look etched onto her fat, old face. Her mouth opened in a little _o_ as comprehension dawned. He only smiled more brightly. "Surprise," he said.

She laughed. She knew he'd make an honest woman out of her at some point, but never imagined it would be anywhere but Kirkwall. She shrugged. _No time like the present._

"This is okay, right?" he asked, looking nervous and a little...shy? An astonished look must have crossed her face at that, because he wrung his hands together and turned a funny shade of scarlet.

Cora only laughed, and nudged Fenris in the sister's direction.

The sister turned toward Fenris. "You said you had tokens." He turned red, again, and fumbled around in one of his pouches.

He pulled out two golden rings and handed them to the sister. "I, uh...I got these on the way to Llomerryn," he said to Althaea. She raised an eyebrow.

"With Ianyx," he clarified, and she got his meaning then. Pirate booty. Of course he wouldn't want to elaborate in front of a Chantry sister. "There's a smith in town that can re-cast it if it doesn't fit, so..."

She put a finger to his lips, and half his mouth quirked up. He took a deep breath and handed them to the sister. "Your cloak," she said, and he jumped with a little _oh,_ and threw it around Althaea.

She had never seen him quite like this. He was tripping over his actions like a mooncalf! The sister only cleared her throat, and he jumped, again. "The words?" the sister said.

"I...I take you under the cloak of my protection. In...in the sight of the Maker." He'd been memorizing them. She grinned; the cloak - the one she'd embroidered for him, over a year ago now - was about eight inches too long for her.

She knew the words, and she knew he knew that. She'd spent enough time in the chantry at Kirkwall overhearing them, both aloud and in secret, and by members of every race. "I accept the cloak of your protection, in the sight of the Maker."

The sister placed their hands in one another's, wrapping them together with a bit of rope. "In this arbor, sacred to the Maker, I join you." She nodded at Althaea. "I take it you know the vow."

"Sacred Andraste as my witness, I bind myself to you for all the years I am given, until you or I cross the Veil."

He only stared at her, dumbstruck. "Your turn," she whispered.

He came to, cleared his throat, returned the words. He had to put the ring on her thumb, it was so big; and his barely fit the pinky on his left hand. For something that should be so solemn, this wedding was seeming rather funny. She didn't mind.

"Consider yourselves joined for all your days," said the sister, then patted him on his shoulder. "You can kiss your wife." And he did, with enthusiasm that sent the wreath of flowers flying off her head.

Cora returned to town with the Chantry sister, leaving them to consummate their union among the poppies. They stayed in Tantervale long enough to correct the rings, then made for the Wildervale plain.

* * *

"Out in the distance," Cora said. "Can you see it?"

For being a woman who often complained about seeing near things, Cora's far sight was still as sharp as ever. Althaea narrowed her eyes, but didn't see anything.

"A Dalish camp," Fenris said, then shook his head. "A Dalish camp...without aravels." He exchanged a dark look with Althaea, who kicked her mare in their direction.

The hunters pointed their arrows in their direction. The one who appeared to be their leader spoke. "State your business, shemlen."

Fenris must have remembered his hood, because he removed it and said, "I am no shemlen." The hunter seemed to recognize him.

"You are one of the Champion's companions, are you not?"

"I am -" The bows came back up, the strings tautened - "but I have not seen him for months."

"What happened here?" Althaea asked, when she realized this was Merrill's clan, or what remained of it, anyway. Then she remembered the craftsmaster's name; she was wearing his armor. "Where's Master Ilen? Where are your aravels? Where is the Keeper?"

"Dead," said the hunter, and though their bows came down, their arrows stayed nocked. "Your friend the Champion killed her. Now, state your business, or move on."

There was more to this story, she knew, but the shock of the concept rattled her to the core. "We came to trade," she said. Fenris nodded in agreement; even if he didn't agree, the appearance of infighting wouldn't help them.

"We have nothing of value, as you can see."

"Fenarel, they might like a few of the trinkets," said one of the other hunters, and now that she wasn't pointing an arrow in Althaea's direction, she looked more familiar.

Fenris turned toward her, switched to Arcanum. "There is nothing we can do to help them."

"No," she said, "but they have a doe on the spit, there. We can trade one of the horses for a hot meal and a warm fire for the night."

"I'd like that," Cora said.

"We'd have to walk," he said.

"It's not much farther, and wherever they are going, even one horse will help them move more quickly." She tried not to gesture. "Look at them, love. They'll die before they reach their destination."

He frowned, but nodded to Fenarel. "We'll trade the mare for food and flame. She's a good pack horse."

Fenarel looked at his companions for approval, then put his arrow in the quiver. "It's a bargain," he said.

* * *

Fenris was watching his wife and mother-in-law talk by the fire when Fenarel approached him.

"It is an uneven bargain," he said.

"I know," Fenris said. "But you and I both know you'll die without it. What happened? Truly?"

"The demon on the mountain," Fenarel said. "The Keeper let it take her so it couldn't take Merrill, and now we are lost."

Blood magic. The things it had done to these people. To him. To his wife. _And yet_...he fingered his drakon. "Where are you going?"

"He have no halla. We have no keeper. We heard there was an arlathven in Antiva. We'll go there, disperse among the clans, and Sabrae will be no more."

They stood in silence, and Fenris watched as one of the women handed Cora a flask; she took a small sip of it and handed it to Althaea. She was as lovely in silhouette as she was in direct light. He smiled. Beauty could blossom in the most desolate of places.

"Your seed is wasted on her, you know," Fenarel said, gesturing in her direction. "Your children will all be human, and they won't belong to either us or them."

"I know," said Fenris. Maker, did he know. It had bothered him, once, but no more.

"There are three fertile women here tonight," Fenarel said carefully. "All of them would welcome a child, even if you didn't stay."

Fenris pinned him with a narrowed gaze, and the other elf seemed to understand the meaning of it quite plainly. "I will give a child to no woman but my wife."

He left Fenarel and joined Althaea at the fire. The temerity of the man had angered him beyond explaining. Unless they reached Antiva, they were all as good as dead; what good would having even one pregnant woman among them do? _The last true elves, my tattooed ass. _

"What did Fenarel have to say?" she asked.

"Nothing of import." That night he made love to Althaea twice, as if to prove his point to the hunter.

They departed the next morning, having turned Fenris's gelding into a pack horse. He left the lapis necklace in one of the mare's packs for Fenarel to find, and they walked the rest of the way home.

* * *

**Postscript: **All right, guys. We have ONE more chapter before we all sigh our collective "Damnit, Anders!"

I want to know what YOU want to see in the next interlude: "A Brief Normalcy". Let me know in the reviews, or send me a PM with your feedback.


	33. A Brief Normalcy

**A/N: **As with "Journey Home", this is less a cohesive chapter than a series of vignettes.

**CHAPTER 33**

**INTERLUDE VI: A BRIEF NORMALCY**

The horse was stabled and even after paying for a year's worth of his board, they still had plenty of coin to spare.

Althaea and Fenris shared the load - camping gear and food, most of it - and walked Cora to his Hightown manse. Fenris silently thanked the Maker that she hadn't found herself heavy of womb on the trip; his half of the load was bad enough, and he'd never have let her haul things around in that state.

Althaea was on the edge of blathering, Fenris decided, but let her be. After all, they had been away almost half a year. "It was in really bad shape, but we fixed parts of it up pretty nicely. There's a huge bathroom, you could soak all day in the tub if you wanted to -"

"My key doesn't work." Fenris jiggled the handle, turned the key again. No luck.

"Try it again," she said. As he worried at the lock, a city guardsman began making her way over.

"Is there a reason you're trying to get into Ser Hosta's house?" she asked. Her tone was conversational, but left no room for argument. Fenris tried anyway.

"This is my home. I've lived here for years."

"Right, and I'm the Viscountess of Kirkwall," she laughed. "Get moving or I'll place all three of you under arrest for attempted burglary."

Fenris had half a mind to show the guard just how difficult that task would be, but Althaea shook her head minutely, and he knew she was right. No arguments, no fighting. They were all bone tired and Cora looked as if she would keel over any minute now from pure exhaustion.

"Hanged Man?" he asked.

"I don't know if she'll make it that far."

"Hawke's place, then."

She nodded. "He still owes me for getting shot, and he'll let us stay long enough to get a new place sorted. We can spare ourselves board at the inn."

"And then we can ask him what he was thinking with the Dalish?"

"That, too." She turned to Cora as they started walking to Hawke's estate. "You'll love Leandra. She's Hawke's mother, and she took care of me when I was sick..."

Fenris resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead did his best to ignore her as they walked. It was easy enough. When they knocked on Hawke's door, Orana answered it.

"Messere Fenris!" she exclaimed. "We were wondering when you would return! Please, come in. I'll fetch Messere Hawke." She spirited herself down the corridor and disappeared, and it wasn't long before Hawke was coming down the stairway to meet them.

He grinned broadly and extended a hand. Fenris made to shake it, but Hawke instead pulled him in for an embrace. He stiffened, confused, and when he looked at the women he saw that they were both stifling laughs.

"Good to see you back, friend," said Hawke, and for a few moments, the indictments Fenris wanted to make against him were forgotten. "I see your trip went as planned."

"Yes and no," Althaea said, "but that's a tale for another day. "Hawke, I want you to meet Cora. Mamae, this is Garrett Hawke."

Hawke shook her hand, and Cora surprised Fenris and Hawke both by pulling him in for an embrace. "It is nice to meet you," she said, slowly - she knew enough Common to make her job easy, but speaking it exclusively would take time - and managed to pat him on the head despite the difference in height.

He broke from the embrace and spread his arms. "I'd ask you what I can do for you, but I already know why you're here."

"What happened to the mansion?" Althaea asked.

"The merchant who owned the place had some ears in the city, I guess. He found out Fenris had been fixing the place up, paid the back taxes, and put it up for sale."

All his things! His clothing, the bedclothes, the few trinkets he'd collected...the letter-writing kit Althaea had given him...gone, sold to some knight by the name of Ser Hosta -

"Varric caught wind of it, and he and I packed everything that looked important to you," Hawke said. Fenris breathed a sigh of relief. "It's all in the guest room, and you're welcome to stay for a few weeks while you sort things out."

Fenris might have offered a token protest, but Orana was already leading Cora up the stairs, chatting softly with her in Arcanum.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

Althaea ventured into Hawke's library to borrow a quill and ink and found Anders working at the writing desk. She cleared her throat and was thankful when he didn't jump.

"Good morning," he said. "Can I help you with something?"

"I needed to write a few letters, but it looks like you're already using the ink."

"We can share," he said. Then he moved his chair and his work so they could sit two-a-side. He dug around in one of the drawers for a quill. "What do you have to work on?"

"Just a quick letter to my brother." The sooner he knew she'd gotten home safe, the better, and since their father was bound on pain of death to a promise never to pursue, she felt fairly comfortable letting him know where she was at.

"You're talking again?"

"If I'd had it my way, we'd never have stopped."

She worked for a while before he closed one of the books and opened another. She noticed the title on the spine; it was the seminal work of the ancient philosopher Thulis Tycho, something she'd thumbed through in Mae's library and hadn't the stomach to finish. "Anders, where did you get this?"

"I don't remember."

"Bullshit. Maker, Anders, what are you doing with this? The contents of this book could get us all executed!"

"And you would know...how?"

"Because I tried to read it. Anders, Tycho advocated nothing less than the eradication of all non-mages - you have to get rid of it!"

"Could you speak any louder? Are you trying to get us arrested?" There was a dangerous flare in his eye, one that indicated he wasn't far from spilling over. _Kaffas. _She lowered her voice.

"Anders. Listen to me." She took the book gently, and considered tossing it in the fire. "I know what you're looking for, but I can tell you this much: the Imperium doesn't have the answers."

"And I suppose you do?"

"I don't think any of us do."

"You of all people should know what life in the Circle is like. What they do to us. What we could become. You saw what they did to Galatea."

This again. Why did she always allow herself to get caught in this argument with him? She shook her head and decided she could finish writing later, then got up without a word, taking the book with her for safekeeping.

She checked in with Orana, then donned a dress more suitable for appearing in public, and headed to the chantry.

It was as big as ever, and for a moment she wondered if she'd be kicked out; she didn't care anymore. She had nothing to hide from; her father was bound to a blood promise and the Chantry certainly had bigger fish to fry.

She pointedly avoided Elthina's gaze, and snuck up on Sebastian as he was lighting votives in one of the vestibules.

"Althaea!" he exclaimed, then brought her in for an embrace. "I worried you'd never come home."

_Home_, she thought. _Yes, I suppose this is home now, isn't it._ "I did, too, for a while there. Do you have time to go for a walk?"

Seb looked around, assessed the situation, and nodded. They strode down the steps leading to the Chantry and began to stroll along the Hightown boulevard while she recounted the trip. She was careful not to mention her father's blood pact, but did expound on Gaius's possession by a pride demon.

Seb clucked and shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear about your brother," he said.

"You know, you're the first person who's said that. Thank you."

"Regardless of what he became, he was your brother, and you loved him. He may have become a monster, but no one can take away the memories you have of him."

_A person with evil intent and enough blood to carry out the act could, but that's beside the point. _"You always know what to say, Seb."

"It comes with the territory of being a Chantry brother." He chuckled.

"Any news of Starkhaven?"

"Always this, love. Sometimes I wonder if you have your head on straighter than I do. No, no news of Starkhaven. Lady Thorne of Tantervale remains willing to help, should I choose to attempt a coup."

"But...?"

"I've no sign from the Maker. I will not subject my people to ruin without it."

"Starkhaven could be taken with a small task force, I'm sure of it."

Seb frowned. "I didn't think of anything but a frontal assault. Another reason I am probably best left here in Kirkwall."

They walked for a time, until he spoke again. "You know, Althaea, you could be a deft hand at statecraft, if you put your mind to it. Are you sure you'll return to Varric's employ?"

She nodded. "I have no desire to latch myself on to any of the powers that be here. With no Viscount, it seems Meredith is the only one in power, and I burned that bridge last year. I have more important things to take care of."

"Your family," he agreed. "How is your mother adjusting?"

"She's having a little trouble with the common tongue, but other than that, she seems fine so far."

"And Fenris?"

"He's been through a lot, but he seems to have gotten used to the idea of having two people to take care of."

"I saw the token on your hand," he said, and smiled. Althaea returned it, a little bashfully. "When did that happen?"

"It happened in a field just outside Tantervale. It was beautiful."

"No doubt," he said. "I always wondered what that moment would look like, or if I'd get it."

They sat at a bench together, enjoying the warm sunlight of late spring for a while. "You will if you become the Prince again. You'll need an heir."

He nodded thoughtfully. "That, in and of itself, is not a good enough reason to stage a coup."

She elbowed him; clearly, he'd missed the jest. He realized it and laughed. "Enough, friend."

"Never enough," she said, and they laughed. She grew silent. "It seems, though, that things are more dire than they were when I left."

"They are," he said. "Meredith's chokehold grows, and it seems Elthina's the only one holding the madness back. It's gotten so bad the Divine sent an agent of hers to investigate."

"Maker!" That explained Anders's sudden renewed interest in mage freedom. It had died a little in the aftermath of her accident, but this could push anyone to the tipping point, especially if they were already dangerously unstable. She made a mental note to clear out of Hawke's estate as soon as possible.

"Aye," he said. "She wanted Elthina to leave, but Elthina refused."

"To think this is the world I want to bring a child into," she mused.

Sebastian looked at her with a smile, the one that could melt butter. In another life, maybe they might have been more than friends. Then again, without the Chantry, he'd still be a libertine princeling; she'd be another starved corpse in the Gallows at worst, or a petty thief at best. "Trying for a child, already? Well, for what it's worth, I think the world would be brighter for one of yours," he said.

They spoke for a little while longer, and Seb walked her back to Hawke's estate. She found that Anders had abandoned the library, so she finished her letter and gave it to Bodahn for dispatch.

When she headed to the kitchen, she found Cora and Leandra sitting at the servant's table, conversing slowly in Common. She smiled, turned around, and headed back to the room in which they were staying. She curled up with a book, and awaited Fenris's return.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

"Hightown will not be an option," Fenris said to Althaea, as she rifled through pieces of paper that were strewn across the desk. "I don't know what Varric was thinking when he gave you those leases."

"It's worth a try, don't you think? Even a small apartment here would be safer, and I know Mamae would prefer to have a nicer kitchen."

"I thought you insisted she didn't work."

"I did," she said, frowning slightly. "But _she_ keeps insisting you're underfed and cooking is what she does best." She sighed. "I was hoping to keep this figure just a little longer."

He kissed her, then strapped on the last of his armor and made for the door. "Try for Hightown," he said, "but don't be surprised if they turn you down the second they figure out I'm part of the deal. I'll be home tonight."

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

He didn't know what he was doing, but Hawke was paying and he needed the coin - and the distraction.

The walk through the Wounded Coast was mostly uneventful, but punctuated with occasional fights with bandits and one group of Tal-Vashoth.

Sebastian had been chatting with him almost nonstop. It appeared Althaea had told him about their plans for a child, and he'd been asking about it: What gender were they hoping for? Did they have a name picked out? Did he worry about having a child in all this unrest?

The answer to questions were: male, yes, and a_ resounding_ yes, but Sebastian didn't need to know that. They ran up on another battle, and with Anders's help, took down a particularly powerful abomination.

As they sat under a tree, regaining their stamina, Sebastian looked seriously at him. "It's our duty to tell the templars," he said.

"Then why haven't you done it?"

Sebastian sighed. "I guess I was hoping they'd come to it on their own."

"And then you wouldn't have to betray Hawke's friends, right?" Fenris shook his head. Merrill had already paid the price, and seemed to have given up blood magic for life, and it seemed Hawke had Anders well enough collared. _Would I have said that, even a year ago?_

"That's not reason enough to allow a maleficar to walk free," Sebastian said.

Anders piped up from his spot on a rock. "You think the templars don't know I'm here? They just haven't caught me yet."

Sebastian shot a dark look at Fenris, who wrinkled an eyebrow. "Which of us should do it? Shall we draw lots?"

_Madness._ He'd thought he was bad, but Sebastian truly had no idea of the workings of the world. He grunted a negative. "You want to turn them in? You work it out with Hawke."

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

"You were right," Althaea said, when he'd returned for the evening. She tossed the Hightown leases in the fire and buried her face in one hand.

Fenris set his sandwich down and looked at her until her face came out of her hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and he was hoping this moment would never come. "No Hightown landlord would ever have allowed it, amara."

"You're a friend of the Champion - I thought that might carry a little weight!"

"Friend of the Champion or no, I'm still an elf. A dangerous one, perhaps, but still an elf. On top of that, I had the gall to wed a human. If I were a Hightown landlord looking at you, I'd seriously estimate the chances my property would be firebombed."

He cupped her cheek, then looked through the papers himself, picking up a promising lease. "Here's one for a big rowhouse in J Hex. You've lived in Lowtown, amara."

"That was when I lived alone. This isn't the same."

"You've lived in Lowtown. We can do it again, we'll be happy for it, and I'll be glad I haven't just condemned my human wife and future children to living in the Alienage." He got up, sighed, and made for the door. "I need some air."

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

The last of the crates with their belongings were finally moved into the rowhouse, and Hawke's crew had gone. Althaea had ventured back to Hightown to set the final negotiations with the landlord in motion, and he collapsed into one of the plush couches Hawke had pawned off on him with a sigh.

Cora came and sat down, and he collapsed even further, laying his head in her lap. She absentmindedly scratched at his head; affections like this were nice coming from his wife, but from a mother? Pure bliss. Sometimes a touch or a word from her were enough to trigger a memory, and he lived for those moments.

"I don't know if I've ever told you how much you remind me of my son," she said. It was the first time in his memory that she'd spoken of Marius.

"You haven't," he said.

"He was a lot like you," she said. "Perhaps a little more of a joker, though. He always did like to play tricks."

Fenris wondered if he might have been like that in another life, one where his mother still lived and he hadn't been torn apart and put back together by a mad magister with a desire for a very dangerous pet. _Likely, I'd still be a slave,_ he thought, _no matter my disposition._ Would he have met Althaea, if that had happened? Maybe, but they never would have had the opportunity to spend enough time in each other's company for a romance to have developed.

"Althaea's said many good things about him," he said.

"I know." She rearranged herself a little, and sat with him a while longer before patting a shoulder to have him get up. "Come on," she said. "Let's get working; if we can get the kitchen things unpacked, I can roast a hen for dinner."

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

Varric had been dealing Wicked Grace for several hours when Althaea stretched, yawned, and got out of her seat.

She crossed over to where Fenris was sitting and laid a kiss on the top of his head. "There are still a few things for you to take care of at home, so don't be out too late."

"All right."

Varric laughed and gestured toward Fenris with his tankard. "I see domesticity has tamed our wolf!"

"I beg to differ," said Althaea with a mischievous grin, then squeezed Fenris's shoulder and switched languages. Varric still couldn't understand it, but whatever it was she said managed to turn the elf a very bright red. He raised an eyebrow at her departing form, but Fenris only smiled and shrugged.

He cashed out of the game less than half an hour later.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

"Absolutely not!" Althaea said in objection, and two sets of eyes stared at her as she did.

Leandra spoke. "What about the traditions? The dress, the flowers?"

Cora interjected, as well. "The party?"

"Mamae, Leandra. We were already married. We don't need to do it again, and I'd rather save the coin, just in case."

"Don't worry about the coin," Leandra said. "We've got plenty of that to spare, and I can always use an excuse to throw a party. You just moved into your first home as a family, I'm sure you could use things -"

Althaea sighed and gave up, then silently prayed Fenris didn't mind too much, either. "Fine. Throw a party if you have to, and we'll show up and appreciate it."

She'd resolved never to let the two women in the same room with one another. When had she forgotten that?

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

Fenris and his family had just sat down for a late dinner when there was a loud, insistent knock on the door. He grabbed a dagger off the nearest counter and went to answer.

It was Hawke, who was accompanied by Anders and Varric. "I need your help," he said, breathlessly.

"Fenris, who is it?" Althaea called from the table.

"Me," Hawke said, and stepped inside. Althaea and Cora came to see what was the matter.

"I haven't seen my mother all day," he said. "Uncle Gamlen came to say she never made it to her weekly visit. Have you seen her?"

"No," Fenris said honestly, then looked at Cora. "Have you? I know the two of you were planning that party." If it was meant to be a surprise, it was no longer.

Cora hunted for the words in Common out of respect for the rest of the people in the room. "I saw her this morning, but not...after. Maybe noon."

"Listen, elf. Remember that mage, DuPuis, and his sister?"

"The one who got the white lilies? Yes, I remember that, vaguely."

"There were some at my house, Fenris." Hawke was on the verge of panic. "I need your help."

"All right," he said, moving to the armor stand near the threshold and beginning to strap on his gear. "Do we have a plan?"

"DuPuis is in Darktown," Varric said. "I thought it might be a good idea for us to ask him a few questions."

Maker, but he was hungry! Well, it was just going to have to wait.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

In the end, there was no party at Hawke's home.

There was a pine box - Leandra's remains had been too gruesome for an open pyre - and Sebastian, saying the words from the Chant most appropriate for the loss of a loved one. Althaea sobbed into Cora's shoulder as Seb spoke, somehow able to keep his voice even and calm. Fenris had an arm around both of them. She wondered how he had managed not to weep; he had seen everything, had refused to describe any of it in detail. He'd only said that blood magic had led them to her, and had also been what killed her.

They all headed to the Hawke estate, where they shared a meal and talked quietly about their fond memories of her presence, and gave her last surviving child their condolences. Cora was too shaken to find the words, so when it came time for hers, she asked Althaea to translate.

"Garrett," Cora said. He looked up at her, and she spoke to him in Arcanum and embraced him tightly.

"She says that if you need anything, that you are to come straight to her. She knows it's not the same, but...mamae?"

Cora nodded, and Althaea tried to work her way past the lump in her throat. "...she says she adopted me, and she can do the same for you."

A few more words, and Althaea almost couldn't talk any more. "She says that you're a strong man, and your mamae was so proud of you."

Garrett Hawke hugged Cora, sobbed, and nodded. "Thank you." Cora kissed his forehead, and the three made for the door, and home.

Althaea tried not to think of how she might feel if Cora were taken away from her, and had a very hard time leaving her side for a while.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

A few weeks later, Althaea was perusing a few contracts Varric had asked her to inspect when there was a knock on the door.

"State your business," she said, not bothering to get up. It seemed some of the dwarf's less scrupulous contacts preferred to contact her at home, and that was not something she would abide.

"It's me," Hawke said. She got up to answer; this might be his first public appearance since Leandra's passing.

"I wanted to say thank you for everything," he said, when she opened the door. "And, I'm sorry you didn't get your party."

Althaea laughed, a bittersweet chuckle. "Would you believe me if I told you it was all your mother's idea?"

"Actually, I would." He pulled a box from his belt pouch and handed it to her. "I...found this in her room a few days ago," he said. "There was a note attached to it. I think she meant to give it to you as a wedding present."

She looked down at the box, confused, and opened it. Inside was the amber pendant she had worn, two Satinalia feastdays ago, and a note:

_Althaea, every woman needs at least one precious thing. I wore this necklace in my youth, and when I saw you wear it, I thought it should be yours; it was originally meant for Bethany. I'll pray to Andraste every day that you are blessed with a daughter, and can pass this to her when she comes of age. Leandra_

"Thank you, Hawke," she said. "It's...it's beautiful. I'll treasure it."

Hawke was clearly holding back tears when he nodded and left. Though the thing was huge and a little too ostentatious for everyday wear, she put it on and didn't take it off for a week.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

Fenris had finished helping Hawke escort a merchant to market in Hightown when they ran into another stall. Hawke decided to peruse this merchant's wares, and Fenris listened with half an ear as the warrior babbled about something or other.

"What is this?" he asked, and the change in tone alerted Fenris to the fact that he actually should be listening. He turned and eyed the object in his hands, a rounded, hairy thing.

"A coconut," he answered, smirking, and Hawke placed it in his hands.

"What's a coconut?" Of course Hawke wouldn't know what a coconut was, being from the cold South.

The merchant interrupted him. "It's a fruit, of sorts, comes from the North, Champion. I hear they're very good to eat, but this is my only one."

"There are limes and dragonfruit, there, as well," Fenris pointed out, then smiled as he remembered something Althaea had said, a very long time ago: _I miss Seheron. I think the thing I remember most of all were the coconuts._

"How much do you want for this?" Fenris asked the merchant, and the merchant wrinkled his nose at him.

"I don't sell to knife-ears."

Hawke frowned. "Be reasonable, man. He's my friend, and he has the coin."

The merchant seemed to consider and finally gave up. "Ten sovereigns for it." A small fortune, in other words.

"Eight," said Hawke, crossing his arms menacingly.

"Ten," countered the merchant, "and I'll throw the limes and the dragonfruit in with it."

"It's a bargain," Fenris said, ignoring Hawke's protest. He pulled the coin out of his pouch and paid the merchant, then walked home, bouncing the coconut in his hand all the way.

Several years ago, now, his wife had paid ten sovereigns for what she'd called "memories in a bottle". As he walked along, he figured it had been worth another ten for more of them in a humble, hairy fruit.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

It wasn't too long after Fenris had purchased the coconut that everyone had gathered for another game of Wicked Grace. Althaea generally didn't come, these days - she often chose to spend quiet time helping Cora practice with her Common after Leandra's death - but she was here tonight.

She'd had a few pints, and so had he, and it seemed the entirety of Hawke's crew had appeared this evening; whether it was to welcome him back to the world, so to speak, or because nobody had anything better to do, Fenris didn't ask.

He thought one of the men sitting at the table across from where they were playing looked familiar, but paid it no mind. It wasn't until late in the night, when most everyone in the Hanged Man was roaring drunk, that he wished he had.

The man got up and, buddies egging him on, strode over to the table. "Well," he hiccuped. "If it isn't the Champion of Kirkwall and his pet...elf." He raised his tankard, and his friends laughed behind him. Fenris seethed, and Hawke grew very quiet. "A toast, then - to our loyal Ser Coconut!" The table turned around and looked at him, clearly begging for an explanation. It wasn't one he'd give.

He might have gone back to his table if Althaea hadn't banged her own tankard against the table and said, "His name is Fenris."

The merchant laughed, a quick chuckle that was little more than a bark. "I take it this your special friend?" He eyed the ring on her open-fisted hand, and laughed again. "No! Looks like she's the Lady Coconut! Lord and Lady Coconut!"

"Comte and Comtesse du Coconut," one of the men at the table sniggered.

"Prince and Princess Coconut!"

"King and Queen -"

There was laughter, and the merchant strode back over to his table. Althaea had gone a shade of scarlet he'd never seen in response to the jibes, but was carrying herself with as much decorum as she could muster.

"Way to come to his defense, Hawke," Varric said, shaking his head.

"If I had said anything, it would just have made it worse." Which was true; if Hawke had said anything, it would have been twice that he'd needed to do so. Then again, Fenris knew that the only respect he'd get out of the merchant would have been earned at the edge of his blade. Taunting Althaea, though, had been a record low, and she was looking much like a woman who was beginning to realize she'd married into a lower caste.

_I knew this day would come, _he thought, though the red in her face faded rather quickly and she was able to rejoin the game without any pushing from the rest of the table.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

They began to stumble home - J Hex wasn't that far, thankfully - when Fenris heard a muffled cry in an alley. He wasn't interested in seeing what was the matter, but Althaea had dashed ahead of him to inspect the noise. He rolled his eyes and followed.

In the alley, the merchant was being held up at dagger-point. His assailants didn't see the newcomers to the entry, but the merchant did; his eyes sounded a silent plea for help.

Fenris would have turned and walked away, but Althaea held his wrist and frowned at him. He sighed, unsheathed his sword and cleared his throat; even drunk, he was a formidable opponent. The assailants were either brave or stupid enough to attack.

Easy enough work, after all, and Althaea pulled the merchant up by the hand. He wiped his brow and hiccuped.

"I thought for a second you might not help," he said, trying to sound sober and failing.

"I wasn't," Fenris replied, holstering his sword. "Thank her." The merchant did, and it seemed it was an honest display.

"I'm sorry for what I did," said the merchant, "and I appreciate the timely intervention. You are truly a prince among elves." He hiccuped again. "No, among men."

"I'll just be going now," Fenris said. He was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable.

"Wait!" said the merchant, and dug around his purse, then handed Fenris ten shiny gold sovereigns. "Take your coin back. And the next coconut I find will go straight to your home. As my thanks." Then he bowed to both of them, and took off down the alley toward a better-lit street.

Fenris held out his elbow, and Althaea twined hers into it. "Why, thank you, Lord Coconut," she said, and giggled.

He couldn't help but crack a smile. "I thought I was a prince."

"You can be a prince, if you want," she said, as they began to walk. "But you'll have to explain to me why you thought ten sovereigns was a good price for a coconut..."

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

Althaea was kind enough to wait until he'd bathed to jump on him with a giggle. "Happy nameday," she said, and handed him a small wrapped package. Inside was a fine silk shirt, hand embroidered. "It matches your cloak."

"I can see that," he said, and kissed her. "It's beautiful, amara. Thank you."

"Mamae is making an early supper, and then I have one more surprise for you, so put that on when you get dressed."

He raised an eyebrow, but complied. When he saw her again, she was in her fine velvet Satinalia dress for the first time since then. There was an cake on the table with a candle on it, and the smell of it tugged another memory from behind the fog.

_He sat in front of an oat cake, dusted with cinnamon and drizzled with honey. His mother's hands, slender and long-fingered, brushed his hair out of his face, and he sat down to eat._

He smiled and blew out the candle, and ate his early supper, cake first. When he was finished, she looked at him expectantly. "Done?"

"Yes...?"

"Great," she said, then bounced up and took him by the hand. "Home by nightfall, Mamae," she called, and walked him to Hightown.

"Were you planning on telling me what we were doing?" he asked, finally.

"The chamber orchestra is playing at the auditorium tonight," she said. "The pauper's pit is open."

"Dressed in silk and velvet, and heading to the pauper's pit," he said. "I'll never understand your motivations."

"Just because I'm not a comtesse doesn't mean I can't enjoy an evening at the orchestra," she said, and stuck her chin out.

"Lady Coconut," he muttered, and she laughed. "All right, though next time I'd enjoy a little more warning."

"Everything on your nameday is supposed to be a surprise," she said, and squeezed his hand as they paid the ten-copper admission and went inside the auditorium.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

Althaea sat in a chantry pew and prayed for the first time in months.

After what Fenris told her the Seer had said, she was so certain they would have their son, and soon. They were both certain. Yet, they'd been home for eight months now, and if she'd had it her way she'd already have him in her arms, even though Kirkwall seemed to be heading to the Void, and quickly.

But there had been eight months, and no son, not even the barest hint of the possibility. She didn't want to be one of _them_, one of those people who ran crying to the Maker for every woe, but here she was.

They'd fought this morning, when she'd cried at the sight of her moon's blood and he'd been so sure it was his fault. He'd even gone so far as to suggest she take up with another man so as to bring Leto about.

She'd already been emotional, as she generally was at this time of the month, and that had stretched her past the breaking point. There had been tears on her part and on his, and she'd come here to think and pray.

Cora sat down next to her, immediately sensing that something was wrong. She'd been volunteering here often, bored and looking for more people to practice speaking with, and Sebastian had set her up.

"What's troubling you?" she asked.

Althaea rested her head against Cora's shoulder. "I bled again today."

Cora sighed and hugged her. "It'll come, _filia_."

"Fenris thinks it's his fault. That...that the lyrium in him is keeping Leto from us. He tried to tell me I should take up with another man."

Cora's stricken face told her everything she needed to know. She stayed with Althaea for a time, then let her be. When she returned home, Fenris was on the sofa in the sitting room, staring at a candle with a hand to his chin in thought. She sat down next to him.

"I'm sorry," they managed to say at the same time. "You first," he said. She cocked a small smile.

"I'm not angry with you. You know that...right?"

"I know," he said. "But I am, at myself. I was just so - so _certain_, after what the Seer said. It hurts to have her proved wrong."

She heaved a heavy sigh. "I've heard, sometimes, that some of their sense of time can go out the window. Sometimes they see everything happening at once."

"You know, I remember her saying something to that effect to me." He looked thoughtful as he took her hand, and they sat in silence for a while. She put her head up against his, and he spoke again. "So. What do we do now?"

"Wait, I suppose." She sighed. "Wait, and enjoy what we have."

He sighed too, but smiled and nodded. She knew he was thinking about their lives thus far, and how much they'd changed: while he'd gone from living in a giant mansion to a "cozy" rowhouse, he'd gained a family...and a little bit of weight. She understood that; she'd only been able to hang on to the figure she'd earned in Tevinter for a few scant weeks. Despite that, though, she had kept all her knowledge and practiced the dagger work that Nigel had taught her, and it had come in handy more than once in her dealings for Varric.

_Enjoy what we have._ She decided to follow her own advice, and snuggled up next to him for a while before finishing the day.

**o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o**

Autumn was really the best thing Kirkwall had to offer, Fenris decided. It was cool, but not so cold that rime formed on the windows or nipped at them; the afternoons were warm enough that one could still travel about town without a cloak or, in Althaea's case, even a shawl.

He gathered her naked body up in his arms; she mumbled something in her sleep and curled up close in response to the touch, and he couldn't help but think that he was a lucky man, indeed.

He dimly heard Cora moving about in the hallway - likely headed to the chantry, as she was wont to do - and waited for the sound of the door closing before getting up and attending to the morning's business. He'd let Althaea sleep in this morning; they'd been up quite late, after all, mostly because she'd been feeling...particularly passionate. He chuckled at the thought - yes, he was a lucky man. A _very_ lucky man.

He cleaned himself up and began to cook breakfast, and the smell of frying bacon seemed to be what finally roused her; she followed her nose to the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him as he turned the slices over in the pan.

"Good morning," she said. "Feeling domestic, I see."

"Feeling hungry," he corrected her.

"Yes, well, you know what they say about men and cooking meat. It just comes naturally."

"You should tell that to Hawke. He'd laugh you right out of the house, and then burn it down trying to prove you right."

She giggled and stood on her toes to kiss him, letting her lips linger, and then doing things with her hands that distracted him enough to burn the bacon. "Oops," she said. "I guess you'll have to try again."

He only let his hunger distract him for a little while longer before submitting to an entirely different vice.

They slept for a while, letting the sun stream in through the window, before they were woken by a desperate knock. "Who is it?" he called out.

"It's Hawke, Fenris. Open up!" Althaea looked at him, concern crossing her face, then put her robe on and followed him to the entry.

"Caught you at a bad time, it seems," Varric said.

"Terribly awful," Althaea said. "What's wrong?" In response, Hawke handed her a sheet of paper. She scanned it - Maker, but she was a quick reader! - then handed it to him.

_Champion,_

_You have proven yourself a friend to Kirkwall's mages and it seems I must call upon you once again. Meredith has gone too far, and I will not let her madness remain unchecked. I ask that you come to the Gallows at once. Perhaps together we can stop this before there is bloodshed._

_First Enchanter Orsino_

"Kaffas," he said, as he finished reading the letter.

"I know," Hawke said. "This is going to be bad. I need you."

Fenris exchanged a dark look with Althaea, who nodded. "I'll go get changed," he said, and she followed him.

"What are you doing?"

"I've got a bad feeling about this, love. I'm going to go fetch Mamae, just in case."

He kissed her before they parted ways, a slow, sweet meeting of lips that made Merrill blush and apparently rendered Anders speechless. Then again, though, the mage had been unusually quiet this morning.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too. Be safe," she said, squeezed his hand, and took the stairs to Hightown two at a time.

He watched her go, then followed Hawke to the docks and the Gallows ferry. A ball of anxiety formed in the pit of his stomach as they sailed across the bay. Why, _why,_ did he have the feeling he'd just kissed his wife for the last time?

* * *

**Postscript: **Guys, I accidentally wrote the ending, which means we are in the home stretch. I hope you enjoyed these last bits of happiness before everything goes to hell.


	34. The Sundering

**A/N: **Short chapter, because we all know what happens here and I don't want it to be the 234320th retelling of the last quest in DAII.

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - THE SUNDERING**

They'd gone to the Gallows, and were crossing the ferry back into Lowtown, after a Circle mage explained the situation. Fenris found himself praying for perhaps the third time in his life, and tried his best to remain impassive, despite the racing thoughts piling up in his mind.

_At least it was a good morning, _he thought, with a bit of a smile. He thought of the feel of Althaea's hands roaming up and down him and sighed.

Isabela had a seat next to him and put her chin on her hands. "You have the look of a distracted man about you," she said.

"It was a good morning."

She smiled. "Me, too. Pity how those kinds of days never seem to last."

"What do you think will happen?"

"I don't know. Probably the same thing as always, though you haven't seen it since you've been off exploring the Great Warm North."

Fenris wouldn't have considered his trip to Minrathous "exploring", but he didn't correct her. "So, what happens?"

"Orsino bitches at Meredith, Meredith bitches at Orsino, they both run crying to Elthina and she gets them to play nice for a few weeks." She crossed her legs, re-crossed them. "If we could only get them to fuck we'd have quite a few less problems on our hands."

Anders, on his corner of the ferry, snorted. Isabela rolled her eyes.

"There is justice in the world," he said.

"Is there?" she asked, and Fenris listened. "You say you want to free the mages, but to get there, you kill a bunch of innocent people. What about them? Don't they then deserve justice?"

"Yes, of course," Anders said, though he looked more and more uncomfortable with the conversation.

Isabela crossed her arms. "And then what? Where does it end? It's like...a bar brawl. People get continuously pulled into the fray, and nobody remembers why it started. 'Justice' is an idea. It makes sense in a world of ideas, but that isn't our world."

Anders said nothing, but simply turned his gaze out to the horizon. He looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. By all rights he should be the happiest of them all, knowing that he would have yet another chance to deplore the fate of his fellow mages.

Fenris realized the pirate had a point, and it wasn't very often that she did. Isabela sat back on her hands, and for a moment he had a view of her ample assets. They were worth looking at, to be sure, but looking at them seemed only to make his thoughts drift back toward Althaea. He chuckled and remembered how, once upon a time, he would have preferred Isabela's bustiness to Althaea's delicate grace.

She cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow at him. "Hey now, elf. You are a married man."

"Since when has that stopped you from making passes at me?" he asked, but looked away, anyway.

"Good point." She sighed. "Oh, how I long for the days in which I could accuse you of brooding."

"I'm brooding right now," he said, which was true, after a fashion.

"Yes, but you're brooding about...happy things."

"I'm brooding about...happy things," he repeated. "I'm not sure you understand the meaning of the word."

"Sure I do. You're unhappy about being away from your pretty little wife, afraid that this morning was the last time you might have seen her. Happy things."

He knew Isabela's mother had been a Seer, and he wondered if any of that had ever rubbed off on her. "It beats brooding about having been a slave, I'll give you that."

"Precisely," she said, and spoke no more. The ferry bumped up against the dock and their brief moment of respite was over; Hawke took off at a dead run toward Lowtown.

* * *

He hardly heard the two sniping at each other, but simply thought that they were acting as children: Meredith accusing Orsino of harboring blood mages, Orsino accusing Meredith of paranoia and ridiculous accusations. Perhaps Hawke could talk them down, after all, and he could return home, cook dinner, and seriously consider moving his family to Llomerryn posthaste.

"Lovebirds at it, again?" Hawke asked.

"This doesn't concern you, Champion," Meredith said, and Orsino rolled his eyes. _Children, both of them. No wonder Althaea lost her patience with them years ago._

"I brought him here, Orsino said. "I think the people deserve to know just what you've done..."

Fenris looked around the courtyard. Templars on one side, mages on the other, and it seemed Isabela had had a point, back on the ferry. When would the circle be broken? Not any time soon, it seemed, though if Althaea was right in her guessing, perhaps the Chantry was beginning to take small steps toward balance; Elthina seemed to be the major proponent of it. _Speaking of which..._

"This is getting us nowhere," Orsino said, and began to head up the stairs. "Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this."

"You will not bring Her Grace into this," Meredith said, and when he next got a chance to think about it, Fenris would remember this as the moment when everything went to the Void.

He hardly remembered hearing a thing, but did remember the crazed look in Anders's eyes as Justice took him over. "The Circle has failed us, Orsino - even you should be able to see that. The time has come to act. There can be no half measures."

"Anders, what have you done?" Hawke asked. The mage's eyes darted toward the chantry, and Fenris's followed.

"There can be no turning back," he said, and turned away from Hawke's touch.

His world ended in a pillar of flame.

He barely heard the sound of Sebastian's anguished cries as he sat and watched the chantry burn. He hardly registered Merrill reach down and lift him up and take his hand, but briefly thought of the irony - a blood mage, consoling him? - as she helped him pick himself off the floor.

She'd sensed danger, gone to the chantry to find Cora, and died. This, after Hadriana, after Danarius, after he thought he was safe from the influence of rotten magic. He had made happiness for himself, and no sooner had he the chance to sit back and enjoy it, it had been ripped from him.

There was no rage, no anger, nothing like he would have had a year ago, three years ago, ten. The only emotion he was aware of was the crushing emptiness consuming him. The only sense he registered came from the little burns that the embers floating down from the sky made on his skin.

Merrill continued to clasp at his hand. Whatever she was, whatever she'd done, she hadn't had the idea of killing innocent people with a magical bomb. And for what? To prove a point?

He barely heard the abomination justifying his act. He thought of something Althaea had said to Anders, once, in a battle of words she hadn't known he'd heard. _Justice without balance is little more than vengeance. _The abomination had ignored her, and now she was dead at his hands. She had died because she was forthright in her belief that there existed a middle way, and she had left him well and truly alone.

Sebastian's voice drifted into his head and pulled him back into the world. "Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when the monster who did this is right here?"

The Knight-Commander was invoking the Right, and that meant hundreds more innocents would die at the abomination's hand. Somewhere in his head, in his heart, he knew he should kill the murderer himself, but...the emptiness. It was too much to bear.

"I won't let her slaughter all of you," Hawke said. He was pointedly avoiding his lover's gaze. He would throw himself at a hopeless cause, then, and likely die. Fenris's solution became clear.

"I will not abandon you," Fenris said, though it seemed like it came out in hardly a croak. Merrill squeezed his hand. Sweet, stupid Merrill - he never in his life thought he would find comfort in her presence.

"We can do this," she said, both to him and to Hawke, it seemed. He would fight, and he would likely die. Then, at least, his thrice-cursed life would be over.

Hawke spoke to his lover, asked for opinions. _Let him die _was what Fenris wanted to say, _let me kill him, _but then he thought a little harder. This spirit, this...demon inside him. That would be exactly what it wanted.

"Let him live with his guilt," he said, much to Sebastian's shock. "Deny him his precious justice."

Hawke considered, made his choice. "Come with me and put things right."

"No!" cried Sebastian, but the priest's anger didn't seem to seep into him. "You cannot let him walk free! He dies, or I will return to Starkhaven and return with such an army that there will be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!"

"Do not interfere, Sebastian," Hawke said.

The prince-turned-priest spat on the ground, made his threats, and turned to leave. He stopped and turned to Fenris. "Come with me, brother. His pet mage did this to you, too."

Fenris thought about it for a moment. He could spend the rest of his days seeking vengeance for his wife's death, or he could have done with it and join her at the Maker's side, and possibly spare a few lives on the way. Merrill saw him thinking and tugged at his hand.

"We cannot do it without you, Fenris," she said, and he knew she was right. He owed Hawke a debt beyond compare: the man had picked him up, dusted him off, and laid the foundation for a new life, a better one. It had been good while it had lasted, and now Hawke was offering the same option to so many others.

It was a noble enough cause, and Fenris's sword was sharp, even if his mind was not. He looked at Sebastian and shook his head. "I stand with Hawke," he said. "I am sorry."

Sebastian's nose crinkled up. "Coward," he said, and stalked off.

Merrill looked up at him. "She would have wanted this, you know."

The girl didn't know how right she was.

* * *

Sebastian made his way toward Hightown and the stables. Tantervale it would be, then. He'd gotten the precious sign he had been waiting for, and would step up to reclaim his throne.

He'd asked for a sign, and the Maker had given him one. He'd been a damned fool. And the elf! What had possessed him to stay, other than his own selfish desire to end his life?

He was able to avoid most of the fighting, though at one point a mage gave herself up to an abomination and had fallen by his hand. The templars asked him to stay, to fight, but he had other, more important things to do.

His steps took him past the chantry, or where it had been, at least. There was nothing left but rubble.

_You should pay your respects,_ he said to himself, and it was with a heavy sigh that he turned toward what remained of the building that had been his home.

* * *

Things had been too easy. He'd fought, and so many had died at his hands. Orsino had fallen prey to his own despair, but to his surprise, the other mages still rallied around Hawke.

Then, as it turned out, Meredith had gone mad. The sword she carried was pure lyrium - the remains of the red idol they'd dragged out of the Deep Roads so many years ago. Her knight-captain attempted to relieve her of her duty, and another battle began.

_I knew the idol was powerful, _he thought as he helped Hawke and Isabela and half a dozen others take down a statue animated by magic, _but I didn't realize how much so._

He spotted an opening in the fighting and made for Meredith. If he took her down, the statues would fall, too, and there would be no more deaths. Not Althaea, not Elthina, not any of the countless Templars, just following orders, or the mages, just trying to stay alive despite being condemned by a madwoman.

He became a blue blaze, tapping the deepest reserves of the lyrium with which he was imbued, and matched the Knight-Commander, blow for blow.

He was easily the most powerful warrior here. Well, Hawke had begged to differ, he was wrong. Regardless, though, Fenris had decided long ago that what little Hawke lacked in skill, he made up for with charisma. Fenris could never inspire people to follow him the way Hawke had - people would live and die by the man's word. Maker knew Fenris had.

He was beginning to tire, he knew it, and Meredith showed no signs of stopping. He was beginning to wonder if he'd made a bad choice, when one of her slave statues took him by surprise and scored a blow hard enough to knock his breastplate off and disarm him. He didn't have a chance to recover; the Knight-Commander brought her sword in a wide cut across him.

He felt pain blossom across his chest and his brow, and blood leaked into his eyes. He fell, and the Knight-Commander moved on.

As he bled into the stones of the Gallows, he was dimly aware of Merrill shouting, "To Fenris! Don't let him die!", but no one came. With the last of his strength, he reached around his neck to feel for the drakon he shared with Althaea, and could not find it. He coughed and felt air sucking into a hole in his chest when he breathed.

_This is it _was his last conscious thought. As he closed his eyes, he convinced himself of the notion that he'd be going to meet his wife, and resigned himself to the fact that he would never see his son.

* * *

Sebastian stood at the steps of the chantry, where rubble was strewn in random piles along the stones.

_There can be nothing here but corpses,_ he told himself. _What are you doing here?_

_Closing a chapter, _he answered. He walked among the broken pieces of his home and said prayers to put the souls that had been lost here to rest.

He was turning to leave when he heard a noise - a weak whimper in the debris. He called out, "Is someone there?"

An answering moan greeted him, a little louder this time. He placed the noise and headed toward the pieces of wreckage where he'd heard it.

The moan became a sob as he dug his hands into the pieces and started digging. "Hold on," he said. The debris finally gave way to a hand, and then an arm, a shoulder, a face. He smiled, relief flooding into him, as Althaea pushed the rest of the way and dragged her mother with her.

She was bleeding from her ears, and was covered in ashes and dirt, but she was alive. She started to smile, but promptly bent over and vomited unceremoniously onto the stones, coughing up the dust she'd inhaled after the chantry had been felled.

When she'd done that and had seen to her mother's welfare, she turned toward him and buried herself in his arms. "I thought we were done for!" she exclaimed, then looked around. "Where's Fenris?"

The happiness that Sebastian was feeling disintegrated. How best to explain? "He's at the Gallows. Or was."

"We have to get there!" she said. "We have to help him!"

Sebastian shook his head. She was injured and unarmed, and her mother didn't look like she was in the best of shape, either. What idiocy could move her to make such a statement? "He's beyond our help now, love."

"No, Seb, we have to go. What are you even doing here? Why aren't you with them?" She took a step back. "Did you...?"

"No!" he said, then a little more gently, "No." He wrung his hands together. "Anders did this."

Her face fell into shock, and he continued. "Anders did this, and Hawke let him live. I told you I was waiting for a sign - well, this was it."

"You left Hawke."

"I have to bring the murderer to justice."

"You left him! You left Fenris, too!" She coughed a few times. "Sebastian, what's gotten into you?"

"He thinks you're dead!" Sebastian roared. "I thought you were, too! What was I supposed to do? The Knight-Commander invoked the Right of Annulment, and your dolt of a husband threw his lot in with Hawke and the mages."

"Fenris is not a dolt."

"Any man who would throw away his life when he thought it was over is a dolt, Althaea. And if the commotion I've heard as I've wandered the streets is any indication, he is likely a dead one." He took a few steps toward her, and she took a couple of her own back.

"I make for Tantervale. I am taking back Starkhaven," he said. "I plan to come back with an army and destroy the heretics who remain here. Are you coming with me?"

"No."

"Don't be a fool, Althaea. The city is going to the Void, a repeat of Tevinter, if you ask me. You're unarmed, and hurt, and I'm all that's left to protect you. Are you coming with me, or not?"

"No," she said again. Fool of a woman! "Fine," he said.

"Fine!"

Sebastian turned and headed for the stables, and did his best to ignore the tears in his friend's eyes as he did.


	35. Perchance to Dream

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: PERCHANCE TO DREAM**

Sneaking had always been Althaea's strong suit.

Using that skill, she'd taken Cora home; their little rowhouse was surprisingly intact given the state of the rest of the city. She'd made tea, washed herself up, and had put her mother on the couch to rest.

"Where are you going?" Cora asked her. "You should wait until Fenris comes home."

"I'm not sure he's coming, mamae," she said. "I'm going to go have a look." She donned her armor, strung her bow, and hung her daggers at her waist, then headed toward the Gallows.

There were corpses, everywhere - templars, Circle mages, and a few pools of sludge she figured were what remained of demons, or abominations - and rubble and ash coated the city. People had largely abandoned the streets, and those who were out in them paid her no mind. It was, quite appropriately, as quiet as a graveyard.

When she reached the dock where the Gallows ferry stood, a lone templar stopped her from boarding. "You don't want to be there, dove," he said.

"I'm looking for someone."

"Aye, so is everyone, but maybe I can help you."

"My husband...he went to the Gallows. He's about yea tall, elven. A bit dark of skin, and has white markings, all over..."

The Templar removed his helmet and regarded her. "The Champion's friend," he said, slowly. "I saw him." He frowned. "You'd better go talk to the knight-captain," he said, pointing to a small rowboat in the mooring. "Or, I guess he's the Knight-Commander, now."

Althaea rowed the little boat across the bay.

* * *

_If this is what death feels like, I'm not sure I like it._

He was laying face-up, on the floor of a white room, with white walls. Everything was so white, in fact, that he couldn't even tell which direction was which.

He stayed like that for a while, and realized that he was little more than a set of eyes floating in nothingness, and when he came to that realization, he felt the weight of his body _become_, and realized he was naked.

Nakedness seemed to be a recurring theme in his dreams, or his death, or whatever it was he was doing at this moment in time. But when he wished for clothes, none appeared.

"It doesn't really work that way," said a low, female voice, "but here. I have something for you." Hands draped a cloak around his shoulders, a copy, stitch-for-stitch, of the cloak Althaea had given him when she'd gotten tired of his constant shivering. He took it gratefully, and the owner of the voice sat down next to him.

He looked, and he looked, but he couldn't place the face. He knew that she was elven, and had auburn hair, but the features of her face kept shifting. No, not shifting; they were smudged, foggy, as if someone had tossed solvent on a painting of a face and had let it drip.

"I thought this face might help you, but it doesn't seem to be." The woman frowned and turned into Varania, copper-haired and green eyed. Pain clutched at his heart.

"Anyone but her," he said, and the woman changed again, into Cora, this time.

"Better?"

"Yes," he said, and though he knew that whatever it was in front of him was not Cora, the sight of her face had made him feel a little less uncomfortable. "Where am I? Am I dead?"

"Not quite," she said, but didn't tell him where he was. Some sort of limbo, he supposed, a not-quite-here, not-quite-there.

He thought about it. How soon could he see her? The real her, not the facsimile in front of him? "Can I be?"

"Dead?"

"Yes. Can I die?"

The not-Cora frowned. "I suppose you could," she said. "You'd only need to step through that door." She pointed at it, and it was _there_, not as if it had appeared, but as if it had always been there and he had just now bothered to see it. He stepped to it, put his hand around the handle.

"I wouldn't, though," she said.

"Why?"

"Well, death seems so final, doesn't it?"

Of course it seemed final. It was death, after all. "I want it."

"I wouldn't," she said. "In this, you should trust me."

"What are you? Am I in the Fade?"

"Yes and no," she said.

"And you? What are you, a spirit, or a demon?" If he remembered his lore correctly, a Fade sprit would be compelled to answer.

"I don't understand."

"The question was simple. Are you a spirit, or a demon?" He was suddenly wishing for his armor, and his sword.

"I don't know. I don't think I'm either."

"What is your name?"

"I don't think I have one," she said. "But if you need to have a name for me, I suppose you can refer to me as 'Watcher'."

That seemed less a name than a title, and Fenris said so. The thing called Watcher laughed.

"That is because that is what I do. I watch. Sometimes, I even See. Now, if you please, trust my advice and don't open the door."

* * *

Althaea stepped into the Gallows, which was in pieces. Templars were clearing away the rubble, and she stopped one of them to ask after the Knight-Commander.

"Up the stairs and around the corner," she said. "Just ask for Cullen." The templar went back to her work.

Cullen was a somewhat familiar face, though she'd never actually spoken to him in her work with the Chantry. She cleared her throat to get his attention, and he regarded her with a measure of curiosity.

"What can I do for you..." He stopped. He knew her face, clearly, but didn't quite know her name.

"Althaea," she supplied.

"Oh, yes," he said. "I remember you. It was a pretty loud row between you and Meredith. It's been a few years." He raised his hands. "I don't suppose I have to tell you that you were right."

"What happened here?"

"Meredith went mad is what happened. That apostate of the Champion's destroyed the chantry, she declared the Right of Annulment, he stood with the mages. We were originally going to arrest him and his compatriots, but she insisted we execute them, and when I relieved her of her duty, she attacked us all."

"And the Champion?"

"Gone. We...couldn't stop him. They made for the docks; after that, I don't know where they went."

Fenris couldn't have gone with them, would he? No. He'd have made straight for Lowtown to find her.

_He thinks you're dead, _Seb's voice said in her ear. If he was so certain of it, she didn't know if he would actually come to find her.

"Knight-Commander?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from the letter he was writing; it was likely a request for backup. There appeared to be several copies.

"You were there, right?"

"I was, yes."

"I came here because I was looking for my husband." She described Fenris again, and Cullen's face grew dark. He reached around for an object in the drawer, retrieved it, and handed it to her; it was his half of the golden drakon they shared.

"He was a brave man," Cullen said. "He tried to take Meredith on himself, and she felled him. The Champion took his body. I'm...sorry."

She closed her hand around the token, nodded to the Knight-Commander, and left; she only made it to the steps of the Gallows before she sunk to the stones and cried.

* * *

Fenris found that he was waking up, though his vision was blurry and he couldn't see a thing. He heard a commotion around him, and voices, distant and muddy, spoke. After a time, the mumbling finally coalesced into something he could understand.

"He's waking up," someone said.

"It's too early," said another, and a black blob with blond hair stood above him, poking his fingers into his eyeballs. The light blazed in and he tried to hiss with the pain, but nothing came out. "He's still in mortal danger. Can you put another sleeping spell on him?"

Another blob, more green than black, entered his vision and stretched out over him. The world faded to white, and Watcher appeared before him, wearing Cora's face.

"What was that?" he asked. Watcher frowned.

"I can go look," she said.

"Please do." He began to ask if there was anything they could do about the decor, but Watcher had already left.

* * *

The city was on fire, but in her home she was safe, and so for nearly a week she slept, and dreamed. They were flashes of memory, of potential, and nothing at all cohesive, until one morning, she found that she was sitting in the poppy field.

This was no longer a happy place for her. It contained so many memories, none of which she wanted to address right now; she cried, inconsolably, tucking her head into her knees. He was gone, Seb was gone. All she had left was Cora, and the bit of gold they'd had saved for the possibility of leaving Kirkwall for good. The bannorn of Ferelden, perhaps, or Llomerryn, where no one would have thought twice about the sight of an elven man and his human wife.

They would have to leave, and she would have to find a way to feed them, or they would die. The practicalities of the situation tugged at her mind, though all she wanted for now was to not feel.

"You should go to Tantervale," a voice said, and she looked around to find Fenris. He was stripped of his markings and wore a beatific smile on his face. _How odd_. He sat down next to her, and she latched her arms around his neck, not wanting to let go. She knew he was gone, and yet...

"You're dead," she said. "Cullen saw you die."

"I suppose I did," he said sadly. "But here, I can be anything I want. This is your dream, amara." He pushed her gently off him, cupped her face in one of his hands. "You are at a crossroads, though."

"I don't know what to do," she said. "I can't bear the thought of living without you."

"Nonsense," he said. "You have plenty to live for, and a purpose, too. Go to Tantervale."

"Why?"

"I died to spare innocent lives. You can do so, as well; you can spare thousands of lives, if you convince Sebastian to leave Kirkwall be, or even help the city shore up its defenses. The people need you as much as I needed you."

She knew the Fenris in her dream was not him, not truly; likely, he was just a figment of her imagination, and she was doing little more than talking to herself. "And Cora?"

"Cora will follow you to the ends of Thedas and back. Don't underestimate her strength." He rearranged himself in such a way that he could hold her and look out at the sunrise that bathed the poppy field in light. He held her for a little while, then got up and brought her to her feet.

"Mourn me if you must, amara, but go to Tantervale. Pack lightly, and make haste."

When she woke, she found she was no longer paralyzed by her grief. She moved through the house, gathering only her most precious belongings, and began to pack.

* * *

Watcher returned after what felt like forever and a day. There was no such thing as time, here, it seemed, and the thought of that confused and frustrated him.

"What did you see?" he asked.

"You're not doing very well at all," she said. "I think you may be dying."

Fenris frowned. He couldn't feel pain here, and thus felt detached from what his body must have been going through, but the thought of death no longer interested him as much as it had at first.

"Who was with me, when I woke?"

"There was a man, and a woman. The woman had ears like yours. The man looked like a black bird, and he sang."

Fenris didn't ever think Anders was much of a singer, and said so. Watcher searched for the words, and tried again. "No, he sang from the inside, with two voices. He was healing you with magic."

Anders, then, and Justice. Suddenly, he found himself glad that Hawke had spared the mage's life.

"Do you know what you are, yet?" he asked her.

"No," she said. "I only woke up a little before you did. But I see things, sometimes, pieces of a life before."

"What do we do now?"

"Watch," she said. That seemed to be her answer for everything. "Watch, and wait."

* * *

The trip across the plain went more quickly than it had last time. Both women were small, and since they had packed lightly, they were able to ride Fenris's gelding, even with their full load.

She'd taken nothing but the most precious things she owned; she couldn't help that among them were a few of Fenris's things: his cloak, his silk shirt, and one of his nightshirts. When she'd packed it, the scent of his sweat had wafted up to her: familiar, earthy, and pleasant.

In that moment, it had occurred to her that she'd never smell him again, and she'd cried for a while. Then the pain had gone away, or at least faded to the back of her mind.

If things hadn't been so dire, she might have turned to drink just to keep the feelings at bay. Anything had to be better than this, and alcohol-fueled oblivion would have been a welcome respite. But there were more important things to do, days to survive. She'd had to fight a couple of times, and regretted both of them; the people on the other end of her bow had been refugees, as well, but not as well off as they.

When she reached Tantervale, she decided against changing out of her armor and into a dress. The choice had been well-made, it appeared, because the city gates had already been closed to those fleeing from Kirkwall.

"We have no room," the guard called to her. "Go back to Kirkwall."

"I will not," she said, pacing the horse and trying to put on a show of dominance. "Send for my friend, Sebastian Vael. He will vouch for me."

"You're a friend of the Prince?"

"Aye," she said, and let the gelding pace the ground below him.

"Who may I tell him is at the gate?"

"Tell him..." She thought for a moment. _I was Althaea, and Amelia, and Amara, and Foxface and Tariseta and a hundred other names. Now I am only one. _"Tell him the Lady Amalthaea Demitridis calls for his aid."

The guard bowed - funny how adding a half-right title could inspire a person into taking action - and disappeared from the gate.

Hours later, it seemed, the gates finally opened, and Sebastian appeared, dressed more finely than she'd ever seen him. He eased her off the horse, then did the same for Cora, and called for a groom to stable him.

"You came," he said, and hugged her tightly.

"I did."

"I'm glad," he said. "Things seem to be going to shit in a hurry, if my sources are to be believed."

She shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"Was the journey easy?"

"It was all right," she said. "There are a lot of desperate people on the road, and desperate people do desperate things, it seems."

"Like attack an armed woman on a horse?"

"Just so."

Sebastian escorted her down the streets to Lady Thorne's rambling estate, where he offered her breakfast. Somehow, though, she found herself queasy at the very thought of food, and turned it down. Cora, thankfully, did not have the same problem.

He met her after they had been shown to a room and had been given a chance to rest and clean up from the trip.

"Sebastian, I came for more than just protection and a place to stay," she finally said, later on that evening as they sat by the fire.

"I know," he said, but didn't say anything else.

"After you left...I went to the Gallows, spoke to the Knight-Commander. Hawke was long gone by the time I got there, but Cullen gave me this." She handed him Fenris's half of the drakon. "He'd never have left that behind, not willingly, and Cullen told me he saw Meredith cut him down."

Sebastian said nothing for a very long time, but tears appeared to gather in his eyes. "I asked him to come with me," he said. "If he had, he'd still be alive."

"I can't pretend to know what he was thinking," Althaea said, "but know that I don't blame you in the least."

"I think it was my anger," he said. "In that moment I could think of nothing but taking back my throne and taking my vengeance against Kirkwall for their crimes against the Chantry."

"You don't think that anymore?"

He sighed and appeared quite thoughtful. "In truth, I don't know. Elthina knew what was coming, knew that her demise might be necessary to bring about change. My actions would do nothing but exacerbate the problem, and I feel there are dark times to come. I need to be in a position where I can prepare my people for them."

"The mages of the Circle are faultless," she pointed out. "It was Anders, and Anders alone. If he lives, he will be buried under the weight of his guilt. Leave him to it."

"You speak truth," he said. "You always have, Althaea. I knew I could count on you for that much."

They sat by the fire a while longer before he spoke again. "I noticed you used your old name, when you called for me."

"Yes," she said. "I think it's high time I took it back."

Sebastian smiled. "Good. I agree. And in terms of the roof over your head, I would like to ask for your help."

"Anything," she said.

"You speak truth to me, and you've known me not as a prince, but as a priest, and a peer."

"Out with it, Seb."

"I need an advisor. Someone to keep me on my toes, someone to...point things out, that I might otherwise miss. And when I gain Starkhaven back, I'll grant you an estate and a ladyship proper. What do you think?"

A highborn title and an estate. A permanent roof over her head, and food in her and Cora's bellies. There were certainly worse things to be had for helping a friend, she decided. "I think that's a wonderful idea."

* * *

She had nothing of Fenris to bury or burn, but all the same, she had Sebastian take her to the poppy field to lay his memory to rest.

He was no longer a priest, but that was fine by her; Fenris had never truly believed in the Maker, anyway. At his worst, he had sneered in her belief, and at best, he had politely ignored it. She wondered, for a while, whether he was at the Maker's side, or if there was another place where people like him went, a different paradise. Wherever he was now, she convinced herself that it was somewhere good.

She hardly heard Sebastian's words, but the sound of his voice comforted her. She buried his half of the drakon and drove her dagger, his first gift to her, into the ground to mark the spot where it lay.

She walked back to Tantervale proper, Cora's fingers laced into one of her hands, Seb's laced into the other.

* * *

It wasn't long before the first of the displaced Circle mages showed up in Tantervale, and it was clearly making Sebastian nervous; Lady Thorne had denied them entry, and Althaea had demanded an audience with them both.

"They're seeking shelter, same as everyone else," Althaea said to them. "Let them be. There are templars here, and they'll be safe."

"I can't abide mages in the city," Lady Thorne said. "They were responsible for Kirkwall."

"One apostate mage, an avowed Resolutionist, was responsible for Kirkwall. I know the mages at the gates; they are Loyalists and Aequitarians both. You cannot condemn them for his act!"

"I can, and I will."

"Lady Thorne, I beg you to see reason. They will be safe, and they will be thankful. Thankful mages are _useful._" She gave Seb a look, heavy with meaning; mages on his side would spell a quick and nearly bloodless coup.

He understood what she was trying to say. "Beatrix, I'm afraid I must stand with Lady Demitridis on this." _Thank the Maker._

"Thank you, Sebastian," Althaea said. "Lady Thorne, I'm imploring you. Do not blame the Circle for the acts of one man. They can stay with us until things are safe, and we can escort them to Cumberland, or else re-establish the Starkhaven Circle after Sebastian has taken back the city. Please. You can spare so many lives with this."

Lady Thorne considered the options and gave her fight up for a bad job. "Very well," she said, and pointed in Althaea's direction -" but I'm appointing _you_ as their keeper. If any of the mages take so much as a step out of line, it will be your neck in the gibbet."

Althaea nodded and curtsied, and Sebastian escorted her out.

"She's Beatrix, now?" she asked, as they walked toward the gates.

"Aye," Sebastian said. "You can only go through so much with someone before you're on a first name basis, I think."

* * *

Watcher appeared again after a time, and seemed no more patient than Fenris at this point.

"I think you are past the worst of it," she said, "but they're keeping you asleep."

Fenris sighed, and continued to throw an imaginary ball in the air. This limbo was beginning to prove quite boring, and he thought that one day he might just walk through the door in front of him and have done with it.

* * *

The mages did prove useful, after all, and Starkhaven fell to a task force of less than ten, a month after Kirkwall. Althaea had originally planned to help, but breakfast had not agreed with her, and when she insisted on staying behind, Sebastian agreed that a sick archer would be loud, and therefore less than helpful.

_Besides,_ she thought, _my armor doesn't seem to be fitting properly, anyway. _Life in politics seemed to have wreaked havoc on her figure, and in only a few short weeks.

Another month went by in a blur, and Althaea seemed to have become the official mage envoy, rather than just their keeper. She was a familiar face to many of them, and proved to have a good handle on their wishes and needs.

She sat in a meeting with Seb, one of many planned for the day, and stared at the wall as he and half a dozen others argued over some inane city-planning project. Her head ached, and the cold had brought on a sort of low-grade nausea that bit at the edges of her vision.

"Lady Demitridis?" Seb asked, and he looked at her with expectation that suggested he'd been trying to get her attention for several minutes.

"My apologies, Your Highness," she said, and shook her head to try and rid herself of some of the uncomfortable feeling. "You were saying?"

Sebastian continued, but the nausea came back with a vengeance. What in all the lands of Thedas was her problem? There must be something going around, or perhaps her moon-blood was upon her, and she was just sicker than usual -

The truth of it hit her like an armored bronto's charge, and she got up in a hurry, barely remembering to excuse herself. She hadn't bled, not since before Kirkwall, and in the chaos following, she hadn't noticed.

Sebastian followed her, concern on his face, and more than usual. He was appearing at every corner lately, turning on his considerable charm and fully ignoring the fact that he was attempting to court a recent widow.

"Amalthaea," he said, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Is everything okay?"

She nodded mutely. "I just...I need some air." She turned to leave.

"You've been a little off lately, it seems," he said, as she began to walk toward her castle suite.

"I know," she said, and laughed a little. Of all the mixed blessings the Maker had given her lately, this was the one she was most divided on. "I just figured out why."

Sebastian said nothing, but raised an eyebrow and waited for her to explain herself. After all the waiting, all the planning, all the sadness and the stress and the resignation to their fate, it had finally happened now. She wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry.

She left without the explanation and headed to her chambers, where Cora was working at something or other, and collapsed into the sofa.

"Something just happened," Cora said, and Althaea could only nod before she started sobbing into her knees. Cora clucked and sat down next to her.

She cried for what seemed an age. The Seer had told Fenris he'd give her a son, but she'd never mentioned his being around to meet him. What a cruel trick the Maker had seen fit to play on her! She was a widowed woman, alone but for her adoptive mother, in a brand new city. On top of that, she was busier than she'd ever thought she'd become; more mages had streamed in from Kirkwall after hearing that a new safehouse was being established for them in Starkhaven, and she seemed to be the only one that both the Prince and the First Enchanter would respect.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Cora asked, and she was jostled back to reality.

"Mamae, I'm pregnant," she sobbed, and Cora laughed. This was no laughing matter!

She brought Althaea's head up and gathered her into her arms. "This is _good_ news, filia_,_" she said.

"I don't know if I can do it alone," she said, and Cora tutted again.

"Nonsense. I raised Marius alone, and it can be done." She smiled. "Besides, you're not alone - you have me to help."

It was amazing, really, how Cora always knew just what to say. Althaea sniffled, and the situation no longer seemed so dire. They had a home, she had good work, and Leto - yes, that would still be his name, she decided - would never want for anything.

She held a hand against her belly, and finally smiled. Inside her was a piece of Fenris, the last and greatest gift he could ever have given her. Cora ruffled her hair and let her sleep.

* * *

She slept, and she dreamed.

"Mamae, I can't find my cloak," Leto said.

"It's over here," Althaea called from the room she was working in, and she made to grab it, but he'd already hurried in.

Maker, but he was so tall. Fifteen and already towering over her, like his father had, and every time she looked at him - really looked at him - he broke her heart, all over again.

He had his father's face, though it was far more open, and prone to wearing an easy, charming smile. It seemed he would inherit his father's velvet voice, as well, once it stopped cracking with his adolescence. Every time she looked at him, she saw Fenris, and she wondered if this was what he'd looked like at fifteen, before he'd been subjected to the horrors that had etched a permanent grimness onto his resting face.

Leto squirmed and cleared his throat. "Mamae, I'm going to be late."

"Of course," she said, and let go of his hand. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." He was early for his lessons, of course, but she knew that he tried to see his little girlfriend in the mornings before his lessons began for the day.

"I'll see you tonight," he said, and hurried out the door.

* * *

"It's poison," Watcher said to Fenris. "That's why you're still asleep."

What kind of poison could keep him asleep for so long, and how long had it been, anyway? He woke up from time to time, but never long enough to get his bearings, or to ask what in the lands of Thedas was going on. It was only ever long enough for Merrill or Anders or whoever was in charge of nursing him that day to feed him, and put him back to sleep.

"No poison takes this long to clear," he said. Watcher had regularly reported on his condition, which seemed to be deteriorating; he was weak, desperately so.

"This one does," she said. "It's very bad."

"What is it?"

"That's a little hard to describe. It's a red song, on your face. It has hands that reach into the blue one, makes _their_ song go discordant. It feels...unclean. Corrupt."

The red lyrium. Meredith's sword had been made of it, and it had poisoned him. He nodded his head.

"When you're awake, it gets worse, so the mage feeds you and he puts you back," Watcher said. "He doesn't know how to fix it."

"And I suppose you do?"

"I saw an idea."

"You saw, or you Saw?" He was beginning to feel comfortable with Watcher's idea of the difference.

"I Saw." She shifted uncomfortably in front of him. "I don't like it, though."

"We might not have much of a choice," he said. "I can't sleep forever."

"I have to think on it," Watcher said. "The idea isn't pretty."

Whatever it was Watcher had Seen had to be better than sitting here for the short remainder of his pathetic body's life. "You had better think quickly."

* * *

Althaea couldn't decide whether the stares or the whispers were worse.

She had a few things going against her, at this point. Someone had drawn the connection between her surname and the Archon's, and on top of things, everyone knew that her late husband had not only been a friend of the much-maligned Champion, but also an elf.

It seemed that the only thing that kept most on her side was that her advice to the Prince had served Starkhaven well; they were thriving, and had even managed to send aid to Kirkwall, the better to keep refugees from flooding their own streets.

Whispers had also risen that the Prince was courting her, though she had shut down that possibility early on, and had successfully suggested a tactical marriage to Beatrix of Tantervale, instead. It had been easy enough. Sebastian had only been interested in her because they were friends, because she was well spoken and a good advisor, and because she was a highborn woman of proven fertility. In another life, one where she hadn't come out as the Imperial Archon's daughter and an outspoken advocate for balance between the Chantry and Circle, it might have worked. In another life, it might have even turned into love.

Whenever she thought of that possibility, though, she thought of the dream she'd had, the one where her older son had worn his father's face, and her younger one had worn Sebastian's. It would have pained Leto for the rest of his life to know that he would always be relegated to second best by dint of his elven father's blood.

She would never let that happen. On her own, she was Lady Demitridis, and he would be a lord in his own right, when she passed. If she'd attached to the Prince, he would always have been the dead husband's son, passed over in favor of the heir.

She rubbed her hands across her distended belly. Leto was sleeping, now, but earlier, he'd been kicking against her something fierce. She was carrying him lower than she had been, her breasts ached and sometimes leaked, and she couldn't stand for long without her back crying out for attention.

"Not long, now," Cora had remarked a few days ago, in response to her complaints. "You'll be delivered by Summerday, no doubt about it." Then she'd left, ostensibly to make preparations for his birth.

Truly, her mother was Maker sent. _Did you hear her, Leto? Not long now._

* * *

"I'm ready to tell you," Watcher said, appearing in the way Fenris had never gotten used to.

"Out with it, then."

"I can wash the poison away, and make the blue song sing in harmony again," she said. "You could wake up. But I'd always be with you."

So this was it. He could be rid of the poison, but he'd have to let Watcher live in his head for the rest of his days. He shook his head.

"I know another man who let a spirit inside him, and it destroyed his life, and countless others," he said. "I'd rather die than make his same mistake."

"The one with the mage?" Watcher asked.

"Yes."

"That one scares me," she said. "He was angry, but now he's quiet."

_Of course he would be,_ Fenris thought. _He achieved what he set out to do._

"I'm not like that," Watcher said. "I don't have that kind of power, that I know for certain."

"Then what are you?"

"I am a watcher," she said, then appeared as if she were searching deep in her head for something. "My kind...we don't work miracles, not really. Nor do we do things like...like the angry one did. We only watch, and sometimes See."

"Are you beginning to remember?"

"Bits and pieces," she said. "I remember watching you, not long ago, before you slept. I had an old woman's eyes, but she died."

"And before that?"

"Another old woman's eyes. And before that, another's, and another's. Never a man's, though," she said. "That would be new."

"I think I should just go through the door," Fenris said. It had been tempting him for the real-world equivalent of months.

"If you do that, you'd never see your wife again," Watcher said. "I Saw her today."

_Wait. What? _"She is dead," he said. "I saw the chantry go up in flames."

"It did," she agreed, "but she wasn't in it. A man in white armor fished her out."

"Sebastian," he muttered, and for the first time since arriving here, his heart raced at the possibilities.

The door disappeared; rather, it was as if the door had never actually been there.

_Make her your wife, give her a son. _Well, he'd achieved one of the two. Without Watcher's help, he'd never achieve the second. He took a deep breath and looked at her; she appeared as apprehensive as he did.

He nodded, and Watcher held out her hand.

* * *

**Postscript: **Come on, guys. You didn't _really _think I'd kill Fenris off, did you? Also, I had convinced myself I'd pace things out, but I find myself racing to the finish line and I'm dragging you along for the ride.


	36. Birth and Rebirth

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX - BIRTH AND REBIRTH**

In all of the lives in which Watcher had taken part, there had always been an ocean. She came to know that after she'd clasped the elf's hand and had fallen through swirls of purple sky and into a vast sea of molten lyrium.

Her own memories were like waves lapping on the shores of her head; they came back slowly, gently, and before long, she realized that she was very, very old. Before the old woman there'd been another woman, and another, and another, until the memories of the things she'd watched stretched back to an ancient forest, and one elven woman who had lived for a millenium until she had released Watcher and entered a long sleep from which she'd never woken: _uthenera_.

Before that, there had been the Fade, a place of darkness where her cousins had warred upon each other, and a golden city in the distance. Her cousins had taken interest in the lives of those in the Real, but somehow, she had been one of only a few who could cross, in the beginning. She thought, perhaps, that she was the only one of her kind. She had never seen another.

Later, the ones who called themselves Dreamers had pulled her cousins across the Veil, and not all of them were able to adapt. That was why she feared the spirit Justice living in the feather-man's - _no, Anders,_ she reminded herself, she knew his name, now - head. Justice had no idea of the constraints of mortal lives, their feelings, their dreams, their desires, their history, and did not care to know. Justice only knew his burning imperative, a hunger for vengeance that bordered on the demonic.

She felt deeply for the mage who had hosted him. Very few would have been able to keep a spirit as strong as him in check, and this mage Anders had proven to be no exception. A being like Watcher, though - old and interested only in absorbing knowledge, and doling it out, and occasionally catching a glimpse of what had been or what would come to be - controlling her would easy enough, mainly because she did a very good job of controlling herself.

She came out of her reverie. She had a job to do for the elf, her payment for the eyes he'd provide, windows for her to look out into the world. She had never had a body of her own, would never, but that was all right by her. She'd done things this way for millenia, after all, and the only hunger she'd had was one for information.

She would do right by her host, even though she was a Watcher and had never worked any sort of influence on the Real. She had a look around.

She'd seen it on her way down, as she'd fallen - a maelstrom in the distance, a red whirlpool consuming the water around it, dragging it down, causing the rest to become unstable. Given enough time, it would consume him, and both she and her host would wink out of existence, as if they'd never been.

She wondered where he was, right now. Was he in the strange white room, the place he called limbo? Or was he asleep? His body certainly was, and now that she had her memories again, she knew it was definitely in Very Bad Shape.

She looked off into the distance, and saw an island, with a great spire rising from the jungle in the center. That was her host's conscious mind - a place where she would never go. It looked different, every time; the old woman she'd shared with had had a china shop on a tidy little high street, and her memories were a great, labyrinthine city.

She swam into the ocean of memories, catching snippets of them as she'd passed. Below, there was a fog, simultaneously red as blood and black as night. She knew, underneath that, was her host's Old Life. She didn't know how she knew, but she knew. The only way she could dredge that up was with a very old magic that required a lot of power, of the same that had put it there in the first place.

Her host was a hard man, and had sometimes even been a cruel one, but he would never condone the taking of a life for something so small as a memory. That was why she had started watching him in the first place, starting with his fox-faced wife, months and months ago.

She swam past a voice, which seemed to rise with her thoughts: _Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we truly have._ That was the wife's voice, though Watcher didn't linger long enough to find out to which memory it was attached.

The way to the maelstrom was surprisingly short, and she swam around it for a time, then dove underneath the waves to take a look.

It was a creature, a fish of some type, though from what hell it originated was beyond her. It was huge and scarlet and gold and had a bright sun branded across its forehead, and it sucked the blue ocean into its mouth. A giant eye regarded her, and she wondered what form she had taken in this ocean, or even if she had done. Whatever the answer, it could see her, and it was not happy about her presence.

It was a big creature, but to be fair, she was a big creature, too. She dug her claws into it and wrestled it for a time, making her way to the shore of the forbidden island all the while. She dragged it up, and out, and watched it struggle to breathe the open air, and then she watched it take one last shuddering attempt at breath and die.

The island shook.

Watcher didn't know much, but understood that the shaking was not a good thing. Clouds gathered around the spire, turned into lightning, and blasted the corpse of the fish-thing skyward, sending it out and away, and she dove into the water and swam for her life. She watched as a curtain drew over the island, translucent and pale, and knew that in dragging the creature there to kill it, she'd just made a terrible mistake.

* * *

Fenris woke with a start, but didn't rise.

He listened to the sounds around him: a gentle creaking of wood upon wood, gulls crying at each other in the distance. He felt the rolling of the ground underneath him, a lullaby of sorts.

_I'm on a ship, _he thought, _and it likely belongs to...Isabela._ The name took a moment to come to him. He tried to sit up, but couldn't; the motion roused the person next to him, sitting by the bed.

_This is Isabela's ship, and her name is...Merrill._ He stared at her, regarding her face, and somehow knew that at one point he'd felt strongly about her - disgust, even! But the feeling didn't come. He only watched as the girl's eyes widened and she threw her arms around him in surprise, then got up and fetched the other mage.

Anders peered in, warily, and Fenris knew that this man was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people in Kirkwall. But something was wrong; he knew that he should be angry at him, should take him by the throat and grind him into a paste on the wall, but there seemed to be a disconnect. It was as if that feeling was something abstract, and therefore distant.

"You're awake," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Tired. Weak."

"Well, that's to be expected. You've been asleep for months. I mean, you would wake up from time to time to be fed and watered, but other than that...nothing."

"You were keeping me under a spell." The phrase should have been an indictment, but came out matter-of-factly, instead.

"Necessary precaution. The, uh, the burn seemed to spread while you were awake. Then, perhaps a day or two ago, it stopped." He handed Fenris a small looking glass. "Have a look."

_This is my face_, he thought. A bright red weal crossed from one end of his brow to another, meeting with other, smaller scars that seemed to be receding. The red had leaked into half of the markings on his chin.

"What happened?"

"Meredith felled you. You nearly died." Anders wrung his hands, and the memories came flooding in; the argument, and then the Kirkwall chantry going up in a pillar of fire. And...

"My wife." There were pictures of her inside his head, memories, but somehow, they stirred nothing in him. She was simply...there. As if perhaps he was watching another person's dream.

"Gone," Anders said, and though he knew he should have been moved by it, he simply sat, listening to the incredible emptiness of his head. "We thought you were not far off, either, but you made a very sudden, very incredible recovery." He looked at Merrill. "If you wouldn't mind giving us a few minutes?"

"Hmm? Oh!" The girl jumped up and out of her seat, and left the room. Anders peered deeply into Fenris's eyes.

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

_Don't do it, Fenris,_ said a voice. He cocked his head to try and locate it, to no avail.

_Watcher? Is that you?_

_Yes. Don't trust his demon. Please._

So, Fenris shook his head, and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He ate, relieved himself, and tried to walk about the cabin with only a little luck. The effort of those things exhausted him, and it wasn't long before he found himself asleep.

* * *

Althaea was the youngest of six, and had therefore never seen a birthing. In a small way, she had a general idea of what would come - pain, and a lot of it - but she'd never imagined all the walking.

She'd walked for hours in the beginning, when it had been a while between bouts of cramping pain. That had finally given way to sitting, and then laying, as exhaustion settled in.

"Does it always take this long?" she asked Cora, who'd woken up from a nap just in time to catch another bout of pain. She'd been able to nap in the beginning, too, but no longer.

Cora laughed. "I've heard the first one is always the hardest, but I only ever had Merry." She patted Althaea on the head and made her breathe as another set of racking pains descended upon her.

They were getting worse, and she was on the edge of panic, but the midwives Sebastian had hired were some of the best, and not at all bothered by how things were progressing. Beatrix, herself a few months along at this point, had come to visit, but had left after she'd seen her first contractions. Althaea didn't blame her; there was no way she wanted another child after what she realized the first was making her go through.

That thought pained her, and in another way completely. If she did have another child, it would have to be by a different father. _Not likely, then, _she thought. _I couldn't see myself with any of these stuffy lords, no matter how many of them try and court me._ She knew they would, too, as soon as Leto was a little older; she was close to the Prince's ear and therefore a woman of great usefulness. No; she'd rather be alone for the rest of her life than have to wade through an endless line of suitors who were more interested in her assets than in her.

In the end, everything blurred together. She had no time to think, only to _be_; she had screamed with the pain and cried out Fenris's name, and clasped Cora's hand, and knelt and pushed and heaved. The relief from the pain had come, paired with an indignant squall -

_Leto._

The midwives cleaned and swaddled him, then brought him to her. Cora showed her how to bring him to her breast.

She fed her son, her last great gift, and cried, and slept.

* * *

He rested against the railing on the balcony of his room, taking a moment of rest from his exercises to breathe in the cool salt air of the ocean nearby.

He'd been awake for a few weeks, now. During his long sleep, his muscles had atrophied from disuse, and walking even as far as the chamber pot had pained him for hours after. Now he was mostly upright, eating everything in sight, and making a slow transformation from "severely emaciated" to "only mostly malnourished."

He'd attempted to raise his sword and found that he couldn't even lift it. He wondered how he ever could have, let alone bounce from place to place, almost dancing with the thing. He sighed, wondering if there would ever be a time in which he could lift it again. Likely, yes, but not any time soon, if his current rate of progress was any indication.

Hawke and Anders were long gone, having given him enough gold to rent his room for a goodly time; Isabela and Varric had taken the ship on some adventure or another, one he was in no shape to participate in. They had been patient, but it had been the distant patience of near-strangers, and in truth, that's what they were to him. He had let them leave. It had been no great loss.

Only the little elf Merrill had stayed. He knew that the man to whom the memories belonged would never have allowed it, but he was still too weak to do most of the things he needed to do, and she, for some reason, had been willing to help.

_Perhaps she considers it penance, _Watcher said. She'd spoken little after she'd confessed to causing what he was calling "the disconnect", but was beginning to figure out that he neither blamed her for nor was angry about the event, and was beginning to speak her mind more often.

_Perhaps she does,_ he replied. He stayed at the balcony, relaxing against it, until Merrill returned from whatever outing she was on.

"Oh!" she said, when she came, balancing a few bags in her arms. "You're up!"

"I was bored," he said. He'd torn through every book Merrill had found for him; reading seemed to be one of the only things that brought him any solace from the disconnect, or from his tingling muscles.

She frowned. "Well, you're up and walking about, so that can't be too bad. It's already better than last week. How are you feeling?"

"I don't know," he said. "In truth, I've been wondering what to do with myself once I'm healed. What will you do?"

"I don't know," she said, and sighed. "I don't think I could ever return to the Dalish, not after what I did, but there are dark times ahead, and I want to help make them...a little less so." She sat down on one of the chairs on the balcony, and crossed her legs very primly. "I heard news of your wife today."

He summoned her face up in front of him. Nothing, as usual. "Is she in Starkhaven?"

"She is," Merrill said. "After they attempted to annul the Kirkwall Circle, twenty or so mages fled to Tantervale, where she was with the priest. Sebastian. She managed to get the leader of the city to allow them in, they helped Sebastian take back his city, and now they're living there, only they're calling themselves the Starkhaven Conclave."

"Interesting."

"Right, well, she's been pretty outspoken against Meredith's decision of late, and it's been causing a bit of friction, but she's the Prince's advisor and no one can complain because the city is doing so well. The Chantry seems to be paying her no mind, so."

He thought about it for a moment. His wife appeared to be thriving despite his demise -

"There were some mages visiting from Dairsmuid at the market this morning. They told me the Starkhaven Conclave are calling her 'The Widow of Kirkwall'."

So, perhaps not thriving, then. Blast.

"Do you think you'll go to her?" Merrill asked.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't think I could do her any justice in my current state."

"You mean, not remembering?"

"I remember her," he said. "I just...well, I know that I loved her. I don't know if I do now, or if I could again. I don't think that would be good for her."

"I think it's probably better than living the rest of her life thinking you're dead. Besides, you made a vow to her."

The girl had a point.

"I'll come with you," she said, "If you don't mind, that is."

He was ambivalent about that. The more he thought about his vow, the more he realized that the only good turn he could give Althaea would be to show back up. He'd return to her and hope that whatever had enkindled his love in the first place would make itself known again. First things first, though - he'd have to get to a point where he could walk without exhausting himself.

The sword work would just have to follow.

* * *

**Postscript: **two. more. chapters. Can we get this baby up to 125 reviews by then? I hope so! :hearts:


	37. South by Southwest

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN – SOUTH BY SOUTHWEST**

When Fenris came back to their room at the Laughing Dragon, he found Merrill sitting at a small table, half-buried in a pile of books. She barely noticed his entrance until he cleared his throat.

"Oh! Welcome back," she said, and turned back to her work.

"What's all this?"

She turned back around. "Well, I thought I'd have a look at some literature I was able to find and see if anyone has ever heard anything like what happened to you."

"Any luck?"

"No," she said. "Everything I've been able to find is about the Tranquil, and that's obviously not you."

He nodded; while he knew his markings anchored him to the Fade in a strange enough way to have piqued Watcher's interest, he'd met Tranquil before and he was fairly certain he wasn't suffering from the same ailment. He had emotions, and plenty of them – just…nothing that connected him to the memories he knew were his.

"Anyways," she said. "I'm sure I'll find _something_, somewhere around here. Tell me again what happened when you lost them."

He attempted to explain Watcher's mistake, but had little luck doing so. He got the feeling that Watcher, from whatever corner she was living in, was tapping an impatient toe.

_This would be so much easier if you'd just let me borrow your mouth, _she said.

_Absolutely not._

_Fine. Have it your way. _For as old a spirit as she was, she seemed to have an uncommonly good hold on mortal communication, especially the more idiomatic parts of it. Then again, that had probably come from years of observation. Regardless, Fenris remembered Justice all too well, felt Watcher's fear of him, and decided that sharing his eyes with her was more than enough.

He tried again, but translated Watcher's thoughts instead of summing things up, this time, and Merrill seemed to catch the gist.

"I don't think I've ever heard someone's mind described in such a way. I wonder what mine looks like…" she went off on a tangent.

"Merrill."

"Oh, yes, right." She thumbed through a few pages of one of the books. "I'm going to take some notes and have a think, then see if perhaps those mages from Dairsmuid are still in town. I know it's been a few weeks, but they seem to be here fairly often."

She gestured toward the bed in the double room that was his. "I picked up a couple new things for you, there. Something on martial arts, seeing as you still can't swing your sword."

Fenris stripped himself of his armor and weapons, then grabbed the book off the nightstand and crashed into his bed with a sigh.

Weeks more had passed, and while they still had plenty of gold between them, he was growing restless. He'd decided, weeks ago, that he should make for Starkhaven and, at the very least, attempt to re-forge his marriage. But while his spirit had been willing, his body had been uncooperative.

That appeared to have ended relatively recently; he had been able to venture out into the city for nearly a whole day without exhausting himself. Certainly a voyage by sea wouldn't be far behind, right?

He leaned back against the headboard and read the book for a while, but found his thoughts wandering. He'd been plumbing the depths of his memories, reacquainting himself with the new map of his head, the one that always looked as if he was seeing it from above. He'd willed himself to connect, to care, but thus far, he'd only seen a few moments that stirred him, even a little. He turned to those thoughts, and let them fill his mind's eye.

There was a sparring match with the elf Nigel. That one excited him; if he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel the pounding of his heart and the other elf's breaths as he brushed past with the quickest set of daggers he'd ever seen. There was a view of the coast from a path near Kirkwall; a nightscape as viewed from a tall chantry belltower, one that no longer existed.

The one that stirred him most, though, was that of a little rowhouse, here in Llomerryn, where a wizened old woman had told him that he would sire a son. He smiled at the thought; that memory wasn't something linked so solidly to the past as everything else. That one was open to interpretation, to daydreams, even, and he found himself turning to it fairly often, these days. It strengthened his resolve and made him want to push himself farther than he knew he could have without the external motivation.

He imagined what he'd look like. Would he be a perfect copy of himself, or an amalgam of himself and the child's mother?-

_She has a name, _Watcher said.

_I know. _He corrected his inner monologue, and thought of her. He wondered what she'd seen in him, or what he'd seen in her. Well, he knew what he'd seen in her, but was he the same person? He felt different; he was a little less prone to fits of rage, a little more balanced once he'd gotten past the initial feelings of loss and depression caused by it. The memory of the ritual in which his markings were made still lingered, but now it was miles away instead of minutes. That was one way in which he felt he'd benefited from Watcher's little accident: separated from the memory of that ritual, his markings no longer ached and twinged, even on the few occasions in which he'd tested them.

That was new, and could potentially make him even more dangerous, seeing as the pain in the markings had been one of the only things that had throttled his use of them in the first place. He fired up the ones on his hands, watched them blaze against the setting sun.

He might not have his sword, and had only a moderate command of his daggers, but he still had incredible control as far as his lyrium was concerned. He closed the book.

"I think it's time to leave," he said to Merrill.

She closed the book she was working on, and smiled. Fenris wondered why the person he'd been had never bothered to get to know her – she was pleasant, kind, and thoughtful, if a little featherheaded. Then the obvious popped into his head, and he sighed.

_She touched the forbidden and lived to tell the tale,_ Watcher said. _She knows better now._ The old Fenris would never have agreed with the spirit, but he couldn't seem to see eye to eye with the old Fenris. He wondered if it was Watcher's influence, or something else entirely.

"We'll start making arrangements tomorrow," she said, and buried her head back into her book.

* * *

"Good morning, puppy." Althaea brought Leto up to her and kissed him on his nose, causing his eyes to cross comically. When she brought him out to see his entire face, he lost his confusion and made an attempt at a smile. There was no laughter yet, but Cora said that would come.

She'd managed to get plenty of work done while he'd been stone cold sleeping, which was good. He was still a little too young to be left with Cora for longer than a few minutes at a time, but Sebastian had moved her quarters close to a meeting room she could use, and she'd been able to return to work, Leto strapped around her front in a sling, in a matter of weeks.

The look on her associates' faces had been priceless when they'd seen her arrangement. Cora had shown her how to tie an oversized scarf into a swaddling sling, and the easiest ways to tie it; the first morning she'd shown up to a meeting, the First Enchanter's jaw had dropped halfway to the floor before he'd remembered his sense of decorum and had recovered.

When she'd mentioned it to Cora, the elf had laughed and patted her on the back. "If it was good enough for me, it had better be good enough for the First Enchanter." Althaea laughed, as well, when she imagined a much younger Cora toting an infant Marius around in a sling while attending her duties. Yes, if Cora had been able to do it while working in a hot, sweaty kitchen, she could do it in a much easier context.

Her puppy. She wasn't sure how Leto had earned that moniker, but it had stuck. She thought that maybe Sebastian had remarked that her son had inherited his father's "puppy eyes", but that was when he'd been colicky and she'd been running on close to no sleep; those memories ran together and made little sense, even when she tried her hardest to remember them. Now that she'd established a good routine – sleep, eat, change, sleep, eat, change – she'd been faring much better on that front. He was sleeping at night, too, and in large enough blocks that she'd been able to get a few things done before falling asleep, herself.

She was glad for Cora's assistance, along with the small army of servants that her mother had commandeered to help out around her quarters. Without them, they'd both have been so weighed down with everyday responsibilities that they'd never have gotten anything else done. So the routine continued, and it seemed that every day, Leto was getting bigger, and doing new things, and eating like a piglet. _Squealing like one, too_.

He was in the middle of a feeding when there was a knock on the door. Cora wasn't around, so she got up and answered herself. If whoever was at the other end had an issue with a babe at the breast, they'd just have to turn around and leave.

It was only Seb, and though he reddened, this wasn't the first time he'd seen her feeding Leto. He'd have to get used to it; Beatrix was carrying low and broad now, and if her curiosity at Althaea's arrangement was any indication, it wouldn't be long before there was a second sling-riding infant around the castle. Which made sense; the Princess of Starkhaven was easily as busy, if not busier than, the Conclave's liaison.

"What can I do for you, Seb?" He gave her a meaningful look, and she corrected herself with a curtsey. "Your Highness." _He only does that when wandering ears might be nearby…_

"I came to summon you personally to the audience chamber," he said, then added, "the sooner, the better."

She nodded and allowed him inside. "Give me a few minutes to finish up and change."

She did so, allowing Leto to eat his fill – a full baby was a tired one, after all – then changed into something more presentable and followed Seb to the audience chamber.

"What's going on?" she asked him as they walked.

"It seems Kirkwall has finally has caught up with us," he said. "Well, with everyone." He opened the door to the audience chambers, where three knights dressed in black armor, a shining white eye embossed on each breastplate. The leader was a dour woman with close-cropped black hair.

"Please, have a seat," she said, and gestured at one of the chairs. Althaea did so, arranging herself primly on the seat, and the woman inclined her head. Her two flunkies took up next to the chair, looming over her as if ready to strike her down at any moment. Her heart raced, and Leto stirred in response.

"Is this really necessary?" Seb asked, and the woman gave her men the signal to back off. She calmed a little, but knew that if they decided to end her, there'd be precious little she could do about it.

"My apologies," said the woman. "I'm afraid we're a little more used to more…resistance, though it seems we have little to worry about on that front, as far as you're concerned. You have my congratulations; how old is the babe?"

"Seven months." Maker, had it already been that long?

"And the name?"

"Leto." She bounced him gently, and he seemed to drift back off to sleep. Good, the last thing she wanted to deal with was a crying baby during an apparent interrogation.

"I assume you know why we're here?"

"Can we start with names? I am Amalthaea Demitridis. Pleased to make your acquaintance. And yours?"

If the diversion took the woman aback, she made no indication of it. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast, a Seeker of the Chantry."

A Seeker. She'd never seen one, and hoped she never would. She attempted to look at Seb for confirmation, but the two guards jerked as if she would try to attack.

So Kirkwall had indeed caught up with her, and it probably didn't help that she was openly living under her given name, and the Chantry almost certainly knew with whom she shared it.

"What is it you seek?"

"Answers."

"Those I have in spades," Althaea said, "though they may not be the ones you're looking for. Would you mind sitting down? My neck is starting to ache."

Cassandra, apparently nonplussed, did so. _Good, _she thought. _I have a feeling this is going to be a while._

She took a deep breath and prepared to spend the next few hours being interrogated.

* * *

Funnily enough, Fenris found passage for Merrill and himself on the _Quicksilver,_ which was bound on a silk run to the Antivan city of Bastion. From there, numerous ferries rode up and down the Minanter, and they would likely be lucky enough to secure passage one one of those, directly to Starkhaven.

So it was that the two found themselves on one of these ferries, bored enough to play cards and read to each other from the books they'd decided not to leave behind.

"Here, have a look at this one," Merrill said. "I can't read it out loud – it would make Isabela blush."

Fenris raised an eyebrow and had a look. The story in the collection was entitled _My Templar Lover and His Cold, Cold Armor_, and as he skimmed it, he felt himself turning several shades of red. When one of the scenes sparked a memory of his own bedroom exploits, he turned even darker.

"I told you!" Merrill laughed.

He put the book down. "Of all the titles we had, is there a reason you decided to bring this one with you?"

"Varric wrote it," she said, and pointed to the spine. Surely enough, the words _Varric Tethras _were on the cover.

"I miss him," Merrill said. "Don't you?"

He shrugged. The dwarf had been the second-least distant of Hawke's companions, and he'd been cordial enough despite Fenris's initial confusion at his situation, and the ensuing depression. They'd sat and talked more than a few times between when he'd woken up and when he'd parted ways with them in Llomerryn.

"I suppose I do," he said, and knew it to be true. The dwarf had been a source of comfort for him, and he wished he could have stayed around.

He had a look around the ferry. It was chock-full of people, all shapes and sizes, but a group of three in one corner caught his attention. "Merrill," he said, "aren't those some of the mages you met in Llomerryn?"

She had a look, and nodded. "What are they doing here?"

"I don't know, she said. "I guess I had better go find out." She walked over to the group of mages, who hugged her and started talking animatedly. She gestured him over.

"Fenris, meet Gerhart, Ryelle, and Celeste. They were from the Dairsmuid Circle."

"Were?"

Celeste nodded her head sadly. "The Seekers…they annulled it. Only eight of us survived."

"Where are the other five?" Fenris asked.

"Timothy didn't make it. The other four made for Tevinter, instead."

"Not a good idea," Fenris said. "The only mages better off in the Imperium are magisters."

"We didn't think so, either," Gerhart said, "and we heard that a small conclave of mages had formed in Starkhaven, so…"

He nodded. "We've heard that, too."

"You make for Starkhaven, then?" Ryelle said. "Good. There's safety in numbers, and we only just avoided being sold into slavery, thanks to poor Timothy."

"Circle born and from Ferelden," Celeste said. "He was a good boy, just a little too daft to live."

Fenris shook his head and thought about the irony of his situation. Old Fenris - as he now called him – would have chafed at the very thought of sharing a barge with three freshly minted apostates. Now they looked to him less like monsters, and more like sad, scared people: afraid of the Templars, afraid of their power, afraid for their future.

They sat together and bumped, fairly merrily, along the Minanter. In just a few days he'd be docked in Starkhaven. Whatever would he say to his wife, when he saw her again? He didn't know, but supposed he had a little bit longer to think about it.

* * *

**Postscript: **We got hit by about as bad a thunderstorm as it gets without actually being a tornado, and home is a total war zone! I'm sitting at a coffee shop to update this, because we finally got power back yesterday but half the city of Minneapolis (including us) has no internet.

That being said, I plan to upload both this and the next chapter today, so please accept my apologies for the dual notifications.


	38. Home

**CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - HOME**

Fenris stood quietly, watching the scene unfold around him. Once arrived in Starkhaven, it had been an easy enough task to get to the right people and convince them of his ties to the Prince, which had surprised him.

His wife was, as yet, unaware of his presence.

He knew her face, and he knew who she was, yet that part of him seemed disconnected from anything he should have felt at the sight. She was bouncing a babe on her hip as she spoke to a few people on the dais, then handed him off to an elven woman - Cora, he realized - who took him with a smile.

_This is my wife. And I feel nothing. It is as if I have watched a moving picture of what should be memories. The Maker has cursed me,_ he thought.

The other voice in his head, the one that called herself Watcher, said sadly: _I did the best I could do. I'm sorry._

He could fake it, he knew, but something inside of him also told him that she wouldn't believe it for long.

So, he stood in the shadows, not making his presence known, as she stepped forward and addressed the mages that had gathered. He spotted his traveling partners among them, and Merrill's face, barely visible for her diminutive height, nearby.

"If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times. There will be no help from Tevinter, and they do not have the answers." she said. "It is up to the Conclave to decide how to proceed."

"What are your recommendations?"

"The Circle at Dairsmuid was annulled, and the Conclave at Cumberland was interrupted. Here in Starkhaven, the Seekers have made it plain that if the Prince continues to harbor mages within his walls, they will attack. He cannot put the lives of his entire citizenry at risk for the fifty of you that are here. I'm sorry."

A whisper went up among the three, and the woman - _my wife,_ he reminded himself, and eyed the ring that still glimmered on her finger - cleared her throat. "If I may?"

They looked at her, and she continued. "I am formally recommending we retreat to Andoral's Reach," she said. "It seems as if the mages from all of Thedas are convening there, and it certainly seems to be the safest place."

"We?"

"I think the Conclave forgets my heritage."

"We are aware," said the First Enchanter. "But no non-mage has any need to bring him- or herself to such a place."

"As I said, the Conclave forgets my heritage. I am born of a line of mages, and my late husband's sister was also a mage; it's likely our son will be, as well. You'll forgive me for saying I have significant stakes in the matter, and need to keep his welfare in mind..."

The rest of her words trailed off in his ears. _Our son? _The child that had been in her arms...that child was half his?

His legs were not his own. He strode over to Cora, who looked as if she had seen a ghost.

_I am a ghost. I am the late husband, dragged from death's door by a deal even I didn't understand, to come home to a wife and child I don't recognize..._

"Cora," he said, and nodded his head. She nodded back, slack-jawed. Then he loosened his breastplate and let it fall to the floor so he could pick up his son.

The child didn't cry, but looked up at him with as much confusion as he imagined he had on his face. He felt his chubby cheeks, his rounded ears, his tiny, upturned nose. And then he looked into the child's eyes, and recognized them.

These were his eyes. The ones he saw in the looking glass every morning when he splashed water on his face.

This babe - this little human in his arms - this was his son. It didn't matter what he felt about the child's mother now - he was sure he could learn to love her again. She was the mother of his _son_, after all. He was home.

He felt his eyes water up and spill over, tears of joy and relief washing down his cheeks; the child, seeming to finally realize a stranger was holding him, wrinkled up his face and began to wail inconsolably.

* * *

"...I recommend we ride along the Minanter for as long as we can, and stay to the north bank as much as possible. I know there will be no help from Tevinter at large, but I can write to my brother for a few reinforcements, and negotiate for rooms in Hasmal, and Hunter Fell. After that, we can turn and cross the fields of Ghislain -"

Leto began to howl behind her. What was the problem? He seemed to be especially attached to her lately, and even Cora couldn't calm him when he was having a fit. "Excuse me," she said, and turned to fetch him from Cora's arms. She could plan one-handed, she was sure. The members of the Conclave made their annoyance known if not vocalized, and all she could do was roll her eyes. _Maker forbid I am the kind of mother who is interested in mothering my son, _she thought -

- and promptly brought a hand against her heart, which had suddenly decided it no longer wanted to beat.

His hair was still as white as it had ever been, though it had grown considerably since the last time she'd seen it, almost two years ago. He seemed to be a little thinner than she remembered, and not as powerfully built, and the greatsword she was used to seeing on his back had been replaced by two keen dirks the length of his forearms. He was handing their wailing son over to Cora, who was laughing despite herself.

It couldn't be. _Could it?_ "Fenris?"

His head swiveled in her direction, though his eyes seemed clouded over and not quite focused. She crossed the space between them and had a good look.

He was definitely thinner, malnourished even. That was nothing in comparison to the scar across his face, a weal that seemed to burn with a light of its own. It met a few others, smaller ones that crisscrossed and seemed to meet in funny places, echoes of an injury long healed. _Those are what kept you from me for so long._

She brushed back a rogue lock of hair, the better to see his face. She looked into his eyes and realized, with no small amount of dismay, that no light of emotion shone back.

It was her turn to cry, it seemed.

* * *

First there was a crying child, and now there was a crying woman. He had no idea what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of - or had Watcher thought of it? He drew her into his arms and held her.

"What happened?" she cried against his chest. "Is there...is there another woman? Please tell me there isn't another woman."

He couldn't help but laugh at the thought of that. No, there was no lover but his right hand, but he didn't think humor would help the situation any. "No, there's no other woman. I've just...it's a long tale..." _What did I call her? Oh, yes. _"...amara."

Watcher's thought ebbed in his head. _Whatever she is to you right now, she needs you more than she's ever needed anyone else._

_I know._

"We should talk," he said. "Privately."

She stopped sobbing, and nodded to the First Enchanter as Fenris escorted her out. "We'll reconvene tomorrow," she said, and ignored his objections. She took the child from Cora and cuddled him against her with one arm, then took him by the hand with the other.

* * *

"...So, what you're trying to tell me is that you don't remember a thing about us."

They were seated in her suite, a beautiful work of marble and plush fabrics, and she was holding a sleeping Leto in her arms.

He remembered; that had been his name, and it had been stripped from him. They had decided to give their son that name, the son they were so sure they'd have. The son they'd tried to have, and that he remembered thinking had never come, in the moment he'd thought he'd died.

"No, I remember," he said. "But it's...it's not the same. It's as if I'm watching someone else's life in front of me. As if it didn't happen to me."

"And the spirit?"

"Watcher is the only thing keeping the lyrium in this scar from becoming unstable."

She was calm, though it looked as if she'd devolve into tears at any moment.

_Go to her, _Watcher said. _Tell her how you feel. Look on your son, Fenris._

He took a deep breath, and crossed the divide between them, taking her into his arms in the way he'd remembered doing. She was warm and smelled sweet - the smell niggled at his mind and his heart - and the child began to stir and whimper.

"I...I don't know what to say. But I want to stay here, with you. Keep my vows, and try to remember. And...and know my son."

"What if you don't?" Her eyes shone. "No, that doesn't matter. Do you think you can love our son?"

"I loved him the moment I looked upon him and realized he was mine," he said. "As for you...I loved you once, and I know the reasons why. I'm starting to feel it again, even now, I think." And as he spoke those words, he knew they were true.

Leto interrupted the moment by moving from a whimper to a full-frontal assault on his ears. Althaea bounced him a couple of times, to no avail.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked.

"He's hungry," she said.

"You can feed him, right?" he asked, then realized what a stupid question that was when she eyed him with an exasperated stare.

"Yes, Fenris, I can feed him. I just...I'll go to the other room." She began to get up when he understood her meaning. Feeding him would mean baring a breast in front of someone who'd just confessed to being a near-stranger wearing her husband's face. _You idiot._

"Oh - my apologies. I'll...I'll just leave."

"No," she sighed. "I'm all right with it, if you are. I just thought you might be uncomfortable."

"No, amara. That's not something I'd ever be uncomfortable with." He couldn't explain his sudden need to see to it that she was comfortable, taken care of, no matter what the cost. _Is this what love feels like? Is this what I'm supposed to be feeling?_

_I think if you care for her, the rest will come, _Watcher said. He looked on as she smiled a bit and rearranged herself, then brought Leto to her breast.

His breath caught in his chest, and though he knew he shouldn't be aroused at something so necessary, he felt need - intense, unexplainable need - surge from his heart up into his head and down to his loins.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, and he nodded mutely. He bounced between intense pride and stark desire as he looked upon the woman nursing his son.

_This is my wife,_ he thought. _I made my vows to her in a field of poppies. And whatever I feel, however I feel it...I will not be forsworn. _

"Fenris," she whispered, "is everything all right?"

"Yes," he said. They were more than all right. "I just...Maker, how do I say this?" She needed to hear it, he knew she did. "I need you."

"I need you too," she said, and laughed a little.

"No...I _need_ you." He reached for her hand and placed it against his straining arousal, and watched her eyes grow wide. "You are...the most beautiful thing I've seen in months, and doubly so with our son at your breast."

She was breathing heavily, pupils blown wide and dark with desire. It seemed to feed his own. She laughed again. "We, uh, might want to wait until he's done eating."

"I think he is," he said, as he picked the boy up. "Does he sleep now?"

"See if you can get a burp out of him, first." She got up and dabbed at her breast with a towel, then handed it to him. "You might want this."

He stood up and looked at the child with confusion, not sure what to do. Althaea was quick to save him, putting the towel across his shoulder and then patting the boy's back gently. Fenris caught the gist and continued the gesture, following her to the bedroom as he did.

The sitting room was bright white and huge and imposing, but the bedroom suite was its polar opposite. It was painted in warm colors, with a comfortable-looking bed of deeply colored wood, and a crib very near it. A brightly-colored mobile hung over the bed, a spring-loaded contraption hung with stuffed plush fishes and seagulls.

Leto finally burped - a little _brrrup_ that filled him with delight - and looked up at him with big, soulful green eyes. Merrill had called them his "puppy eyes". Though he remembered having begged to differ, he could see what she meant. The scent of Althaea's milk on his breath wafted up, and he continued to look at the babe. He finally broke his gaze to find that Althaea was staring at him with a half-cocked smile.

"Put him over there," she said. "I'll check his diaper." And when she did, an incredible stench rose up to greet him, and he made to turn away.

"Oh no, you don't," she said, yanking him by the wrist. Her familiarity in the gesture seemed to leach out onto him, and he fell in with no complaint. "You want the fun parts? You take diaper duty, as well."

The smell didn't seem so bad as she guided his hands with expert grace; he remembered thinking this of her often, but still, that disconnect!

It seemed like forever, but Leto finally slept in his crib, and she turned toward him. "I thought he'd never fall asleep."

"Does he always take that long?"

"No," she laughed, "thank the Maker. I think he was busy looking at the Big New Person that was burping him. His adda."

_Adda_. It was both the Arcanum and the elven word for 'father'. He repeated the word, trying it on for size.

"We can call you something else, if you want. 'Papa' or 'Daddy', or nothing at all -"

She was wringing her hands nervously, and he took them in his. "Whatever you want. I'm just...well, I have to get used to it, don't I." He imagined what it might have been like if he'd had the chance to be there from the start: the first twinge of wonder and worry at her missed moon's blood; the nausea, the fatigue; her belly growing heavy as Leto grew inside her; her hand, crushing his, as she screamed and strained until the babe's indignant wail pierced the air. He'd missed it all, and he decided he'd make up for it, a thousand times over. Then, he realized, against all the odds, that connection to his old thoughts or no, he had fallen in love with this woman, in a matter of hours.

_Kindred souls have a way of finding their way back to each other, _Watcher remarked, and in that moment Fenris thought she sounded rather smug.

_Please, just...let me have this moment. _The presence obediently faded to the back of his head, where she usually lived.

He realized he'd been lost in his thoughts for a long moment, when she squeezed his hand. "Can I see your scars?" she asked. He nodded, and sat on the bed, the better to give her access with.

She felt along his face for the deepest one of them all, the one that had come from the Knight-Commander's lyrium-edged sword. He'd lamented how it had disfigured him; he'd been distinctive enough without the red weal across his brow, and now there was no way to hide, or the red that had leaked into the markings on his face. "How did you get this one?"

He explained, and she bit her lip as he did. "There are others," he said.

"I'd like to see them, too, if you're okay with that."

He silently removed his tunic, and bared his chest to her; the one he had here was where one of the slave statues in the Gallows had hit him hard enough to strip him of his breastplate. Sadness seemed to intermix with desire in her eyes as she felt along the raised line of it.

"You've lost a lot of weight," she said.

"I spent several months asleep," he replied. "When I woke, I found I had weakened to a point where I couldn't raise my sword."

"When did you...lose them? Your memories, I mean."

"Watcher was able to stabilize the markings, but something went wrong. It was perhaps six months ago now, and I spent that entire time getting strong enough to travel here from Llomerryn." He placed her hand against the central marking that laid over his heart.

"You came all the way back to find me?"

"I'd heard talk that the Archon's daughter was alive, and that they were calling her 'The Widow of Kirkwall'. I was reminded of my vows, and determined to fulfill them."

"I never would have held you to a promise you couldn't remember making."

"I remember it," he countered. "We were wed in a field of poppies outside Tantervale. I played it in my head any time my resolve weakened."

She reached for him and kissed him, and desire bloomed. His body seemed to know her touch, even if his head didn't. "I have a couple more," he said, and removed his trousers, as much to display the scars there as to show her how interested in fulfilling his vows he was.

Her hands glided up and down his body, inspecting him, figuring out the differences, and he finally stopped her before he thought he might explode. "I want to see you."

She blushed and seemed hesitant. "I hardly look the same."

"I know," he said, and touched her gently. She allowed him to slide the housedress off.

What followed seemed an eternity of lazy exploration on his part, reacquainting himself with her body and learning its intricacies. Motherhood had been kind to her: it had widened her hips, and turned her breasts from buds hardly larger than a man's to dense, milk-laden teardrops. He traced his hands along the scars Leto had made as he'd grown inside her.

_She is mine_, he thought, and in that moment he'd realized how lucky a man he'd been, and how stupid he would have been if he hadn't gathered his stones and returned to her, memories or no.

"Maker, you are so beautiful," he whispered, and continued to whisper endearments in her ear, tokens of affection and desire that he meant wholeheartedly. She opened under his touch, returning it first with apprehension, then with zeal. He searched the memories in which he'd known every way to touch her, and repeated them, and smiled when she had to stifle her moans.

"I want you inside me," she said, and he nearly broke in half at the thought, wondering if he'd be taking advantage; she didn't give him time to question, but guided him to her entrance and pulled him in.

His world exploded. He felt Watcher writhing in pleasure at the back of his mind, and a bridge of light appeared behind his eyes; he crossed it, and everything came flooding back to him. He moaned and stilled, sweating with simultaneous pain and pleasure, then opened his eyes to find hers staring right back up at him.

* * *

He'd stopped. Did she do something wrong? Was he about to get up and walk away? She prayed that wasn't the case.

His eyes flew open, surprise etched into his face, along with something else.

_Recognition_. Her prayers had been answered, and she watched as his eyes softened and he began to weep.

"Maker, my love, my sweet love, my heart," he said, the words turning into a litany as he wept and embraced her.

"You remember...?"

"I do. I do!" He laughed and kissed her with the familiarity of years, nothing like the ones she'd had earlier in the evening, when he was still unsure.

They kissed in this way for a long time, until he came to his senses and remembered what they'd been doing before and buried himself inside her to the hilt; he moved in all the ways they had before everything had gone to the Void and back.

He was getting close, she could feel it, and she realized she hadn't started drinking moon tea again, in case it would get into her milk and hurt Leto. "Fenris."

"Hmm." He was still thrusting against her, but slowed when he heard her tone.

"I haven't had my tea in years," she said. "So, unless you want another child, we should..."

He grinned and slowed, but continued to lazily move against her. "I told you I wanted a daughter. Unless you don't...?"

"I do," she said. Maker, she did. But now?

Not likely. It had taken them almost a year to conceive Leto, and that had happened only after they'd given up trying.

"I do, too," he said, and there was silence as he resumed his ministrations and brought himself to his full, bringing her over the edge with him, filling her womb with his seed. It either would or wouldn't take root, she didn't know, didn't care. Whatever the Maker had planned was fine by her.

He lay exhausted in her arms, tracing lazy spirals on her abdomen. "I missed all of it," he said. "I didn't want to, but I did. I won't miss it again. I want to see you grow with our daughter -"

"You should have seen me, I was as big as a bronto, waddled like one, too -"

"I want to touch her and tell her that I love her from the moment you feel her quicken in your womb. I want that more than anything. I swear to you, this time I will be there."

He continued to trace circles on her belly until she fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

Watcher stirred and borrowed her host's eyes, bathing the room in a soft green glow. _Just for this moment,_ she thought. _I would never abuse my control._

She pulled his lips into a smile as she looked around the room and spotted the glow of light where Leto's soul rested, sound asleep in his crib. Then she looked down at her borrowed body, and saw Fenris's soul, blazing with the newness of the freshly healed psyche.

She looked down at his wife - her wife, too, she realized - and saw her soul, gyrating slowly and pulsing every so often. She borrowed his hand and traced a finger down the still-naked body, which did not stir.

The little pinprick in the wife's womb, though, _did_ stir, responding to Watcher's touch.

She smiled and regarded it, bathing its light with some of her own. Then she returned to her refuge and let the body sleep.

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

The trip had been long and hard, and they'd fought the entire way along the Minanter, with flames and ice and lighting and Fenris's dirks. They'd fought with Althaea's arrows until, to his surprise, she'd sickened and grown pale. She took only water and a little food until she'd begun to blossom with the fruit of their union, then again took up the bow.

Fenris never imagined his seed would have taken root so quickly, and if he'd known it would have, he might have been a little more careful about things. As it was, though, she was doing well enough for a pregnant woman on the run, and Leto had a grandmother and a village-worth of mages to coddle and care for and protect him.

It wasn't until they met and joined with a corps of twenty Tevinter battlemages, led by Phoebus as an envoy, that Fenris saw fit to remark upon the absurdity of the situation. Ten years ago, he would have torn all of them apart or died in the attempt. Then again, ten years ago, he'd had no idea of how to walk the gray. It had taken Hawke and Althaea and Mae and Nigel and half a hundred mages in Kirkwall and Starkhaven to teach him that, and he knew he still had a very long way to go. _She advocates for balance, and I will keep her alive long enough to do it._

He looked upon the fortress of Andoral's Reach, an ancient Tevinter ruin, thought of the irony, and called for the bannermen to raise the colors.

The Tevinter shield and the banner of the Starkhaven Conclave rose up as high as the apprentice children could raise them. He put a protective arm around his wife and a hand on her burgeoning belly, and waited for the fortress to answer.

* * *

**Postscript: **Ladies and gentlemen, that's all she wrote, there is no more, the fat lady has sung, etc. I've considered adding an afterword, of sorts, with some of my thoughts while writing, what I've learned. Let me know if that's something you'd like to see.


	39. Afterword

**AFTERWORD**

In November 2012 I'd just finished my second playthrough of Dragon Age II. I can't remember how I found it, but I stumbled upon ~strangegibbon's Fenris triptych "Marked", "Touched", "Haunted". Thus began my foray into FFNet, most especially the Fenris fics, and I couldn't help but wonder, _would I be any good at this?_

I wrote a lot in grade school and high school, and a little in college, but nothing too serious. It wasn't until I sat and thought about it that I realized my grade school writing was actually my first fan fiction; I hesitate to give you the details, not because I don't remember them but because they were that horrible. That being said, my next thought was, _It would be pretty cool to see a foil to Fenris come into existence. _A friend of mine and I geeked out about it for a while, and she essentially egged me into taking that task on for myself.

I thought of a few things, even wrote a 2500-word treatment, but it didn't seem quite right. The concept of Althaea as a character evolved, a few times; I'm not ashamed to say that she was a definite Mary Sue at the very start. Then, an idea came to me: _What if Althaea was a person valued not for her ability to fight, but for the strength of her character? What kind of person might she be?_ And then, _if that's the case, how the hell would I get these two together?_

I sat on that for a little while, and then it came to me: make her a courier, make him a sellsword. Genius! I wrote about 8000 words and showed it to my friend, whose response was, "Good, but it could use some expansion."

It got expanded, all right. And to think I'd dismissed some of my first character concepts because they might have been "too epic, and therefore too hard to write". Oops.

The story changed because I let it breathe, though the basic narrative stayed the same: boy meets girl, boy kisses girl, boy and girl make love, boy and girl break up, tragic happenings occur, happily ever after. The details, though, definitely changed. Some of it was my fault, some of it was hers; anyone who's written any sort of fiction can tell you that, sometimes, a character will have a mind of their own. They'll start shit and you won't even realize it until you're halfway through a scene and wonder, "how the hell did that happen?" Althaea's first meeting with Anders is a prime example of this: she was always meant to have a very good relationship with the man, even so far as my friend referring to him as her "gay BFF". Another moment in which this happened was with Sebastian after the Chantry was destroyed; I originally meant to have him rescue her from the rubble and drag her to Tantervale.

In the original piece, Althaea sung with the Antivan sailors on the ill-fated _Lifestyle _(which never mutinied) and the 14,000 words of their trip to Val Royeaux were condensed to one paragraph. The Divine never made a threat and Fenris made his profession of love at a Wintersend party. Phoebus hunted Althaea down and had a "you're not good enough for my sister" talk with Fenris; she was the one who was poisoned by lyrium. The trip on the _Quicksilver _was meant for her and not Fenris; I even wrote a short piece on that from Althaea's POV.

And Fenbabies? Never part of the equation. They just kind of...appeared.

My favorite author, Stephen King, once wrote that he doesn't plot, not really. He just sticks a few people in a situation and watches to see how they get out of it. While I didn't exactly do that, I tried to apply some of that sensibility to my writing; in other words, don't try and force things, just let them happen. I think the results are satisfactory, or as satisfactory as it gets for a published first draft. I learned a lot from writing Kindred: what I'd do again, what I'll never do again, how best to approach dialogue, etc. And while this story could definitely use some polish, I think it's halfway decent.

What happens next? I take a break! Doing this was as exhausting as it was rewarding, especially with awesome reviewers taking the time to speak up and give me feedback. While I was writing, I came up with an idea for a piece of original fiction. I'd never actually considered writing professionally, but writing this piece showed me that not only is it possible, but that I'd be an idiot if I didn't try and at least write one novel that I could sell.

So, that's where we're at. I have two pieces of gift fiction to write for two of my lovely reviewers, and then I close the proverbial book on Kindred (but probably not all fanfiction writing, let's be honest). Then I do some research on folklore and culture relations for my new story, lose the book weight (I gained ten pounds while writing this!) and start all over again.

So, it's with my most sincere thanks that I end this, before I sound like a real egomaniac. I want to take a moment and thank everyone that's taken the time and energy to read and review. Thanks to everyone who let me fangirl with them, whether it was for a few moments or a few days. Most special thanks go to my brainstorm buddies **~GirlyGeek**, ~**Rhax**, **~Kukapetal**, and **~UlurNaga. **What a long, strange trip it's been!

OrielleD

25 June 2013

Minneapolis, MN


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